


A Mary Sue Story

by valantha



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Better than a bare bulb, Brewing and Distilling, Directly after The Blackout, Dual-timeline, Ender's Game References, F/M, Firefly References, Mary Sue, More pop culture references than an episode of Gilmore Girls, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, POV Original Character, Pre-Canon, Trope Subversion/Inversion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-14 22:31:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valantha/pseuds/valantha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before The Blackout, Mary Sue worked in a lab and in her free time watched Netflix. Five years after The Blackout, Mary Sue ran a distillery and occasionally slept with General Miles Matheson; sometimes, she was glad the power went out. Miles/OC</p><p>Posted first on FanFiction.net</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: Teaser

**Author's Note:**

> \- Author's Note: I don't own the characters or Revolution; I'm just playing with them for a bit for fun, not profit.

**The night of The Blackout**

On the night of The Blackout, Mary Sue was streaming some old Star Trek: The Next Generation episodes from Netflix. The power went out in the middle of a Guinan Epiphany Speech. Mary Sue cursed her flaky Internet connection, got up from her Ikea couch, and went restart the router when she realized that the power was out. She lifted her thick blackout curtains and saw the whole street was dark.  _Good, at least I don't have to go downstairs and fiddle with the transformer box_ , thought Mary Sue. The wiring in her apartment was at least 50 years old and less than fun to deal with. She was also glad the weather had started to cool down a bit; it wouldn't be stifling without the AC. When the power went out a few months ago because of a thunderstorm, it was  **impossible**  to sleep in the 90-degree heat.

Mary Sue spent a few seconds worrying about work. If the lab had lost power, the past eighteen months of her work would go down the drain overnight. But, she reassured herself, that part of the city had fewer exposed power-lines, and the university had backup generators anyway.

Mary Sue padded to her dark bedroom and grabbed her new Kindle. She flopped bonelessly on to her bed and pushed the power button on the bottom of the Kindle. The screen didn't change from the ad-de-jour.  _Hmmm I guess the battery doesn't last as long as they say it does_ , she thought, setting it back down on the bedside table. She decided that an early night wouldn't be a bad idea; she had a lot of data to analyze tomorrow. She took off her glasses and checked to make sure her cellphone was on the bedside table, just in case something did go wrong at work.

Mary Sue sighed and wiggled under her blue beech sheets, settling in for a peaceful night's rest; one of the last she would have in a long time.

* * *

**Five years after The Blackout**

Mary Sue sighed and wiggled closer to Miles' warm sleeping form, settling in for a peaceful night's rest; one of the first she had had in a long time.

Mary Sue was in a large feather bed, in Miles' third floor bedroom in Independence Hall. Her cheek was nestled against his warm, powerful chest, and her feet warm against his calves, feeling safe and secure; sated. Miles was sprawled out on his back, one arm under her neck, hand resting on her waist. She was clad only in one of his well-worn and comfortable black t-shirts. It, and he, smelled of sweat, leather, horse, and gunpowder. Mary Sue found she rather liked the sulfur-y combination, especially in conjunction with the ripped, skillful man. Miles had just returned from leading an operation to destroy the army from New Jersey, and Mary Sue hoped he'd stay in town for a while. Work was fine – she ran a distillery in Philadelphia – but life was better when Miles was in town.

Mary Sue's last thought before she nodded off was  _I wonder if I can convince Miles to share a bath with me tomorrow, before I have to leave for work?_  He needed one, and she would enjoy giving him one. The thought of running a soapy washcloth down his chiseled abs, washing his gravity-defying hair, and having him shampoo hers… it was enough to thoroughly distract Mary Sue. She fell asleep thinking happy thoughts.


	2. There's got to be a morning After

**The day after The Blackout**

The next morning Mary Sue got up like it was any normal Tuesday – almost. She filled her kettle with water and put it on the stove. She turned on the range and grabbed a bag of Chai. She had an ancient gas stove that had a pilot light instead of using sparkplugs. While waiting for the water to boil, she grabbed her cooler from the hall closet and quickly filled it with the ice packs and chicken breasts from the freezer. She then grabbed the milk, eggs, lettuce, goat cheese, and bell peppers from the fridge – everything else was booze or condiments, they could stand warming up a bit without going bad. She fixed a nice salad for lunch later on, and poured the boiling water over the tea bag.

She fixed a bowl of cereal, added milk and sugar to her tea, and put the dairy products in the cooler. She walked to her living room and sat down in front of her computer. As she shoveled a spoonful of Cheerios into her mouth, she absentmindedly tried to wake up her computer to check her email before realizing without power she'd have no Internet. Strangely, her computer didn't even turn on. She sighed and supposed she could go a full thirty minutes without the Internet.

After finishing her cereal and caffeine Mary Sue got dressed, put her hair up, and packed her bag. She went downstairs and locked up her apartment. She started walking the mile and a half into work – parking was always a real hassle around the university – so it was easier for Mary Sue to walk in.

It was still early, maybe 7 or 7:30, and she noticed a lot of people having troubles with their cars. None of them seemed to be starting. This got Mary Sue concerned, if the power was out  _and_  spark plugs stopped working, this could mean an EMP. She started getting worried that the university might not have power, and pulled out her cell phone. It was dead. That couldn't be right. She charged it two days ago and rarely used it. She was now certain that they had been hit by an electromagnetic pulse and started walking briskly; she had to check on the freezers and keep them cold with dry ice.

Fifteen minutes later her concerns were founded. All the blue lights on campus were off, and the power was off in her building. She raced up the 5 flights of stairs to get to be lab. She checked on the lab freezers. The ultra-low freezer's digital temperature display wasn't working, and she didn't want to open the two normal freezers yet. She grabbed the key for the dry ice box, as well as a large Styrofoam box. She ran down the 5 flights of stairs and then walked across the quad to the Biology building. She walked down the hall and opened up the locked, insulated box. She was glad to note that it was pretty full; they must have delivered the dry ice yesterday. She grabbed 8 kilos of dry ice, not knowing if the power would be restored quickly, or if the EMP had damaged critical systems and it would be a long time.

Mary Sue hauled the dry ice back across the quad and up the 5 floors. She broke one of the 2-kilo-blocks into fist-sized pieces with the lab's wooded mallet and placed one in each of the freezers. Luckily the freezers were still cold. After storing the rest of the dry ice, Mary Sue walked around the lab unplugging all the lab equipment. If the EMP hadn't damaged them, then the power surge of the power being restored might. The wall clocks were all frozen at 9:17, even the battery operated ones.

Mary Sue sat down at her inoperable computer, her leg restlessly bouncing. She tried to figure out what else she could do. Her old plan of analyzing data and getting ready for her big presentation clearly wasn't possible right now.  _God, my presentation! If my computer is fried… when was the last time I backed it up?_

To distract herself from fretting about something she had no control over, she grabbed a tray and started consolidating everything important from all of the various fridges into the main fridge. She also transferred the back-up ice packs from the freezer. Some of the buffers and chemicals could warm up and still work, others wouldn't.

As Mary Sue was almost done with the consolidation, she heard sounds in the hall. She hoped it was a co-worker, but most of them didn't show up until 10:30 on a good day. She stuck her head out and saw a campus security guard.

"Good morning," said Mary Sue.

"Good morning," said the nameless guard.

"Do you know what's up with the power," she asked playing the ol' clueless blonde card.

The guard rambled a bit about the city power, his car, the back-up generators and even his Segway, but the gist was that he was clueless. Mary Sue thanked him, and he continued on his rounds.

Mary Sue, at a loss for what to do, decided on boxing up all the full or mostly full biohazard boxes. And when that was done she filled up the Ethanol and Acetone bottles. She heard some noise in the hall; this time when she stuck out her head it was her boss, with her 12-year-old daughter.

"Good morning Carol, Violet; I already put some dry ice in the freezers and transferred most things to one fridge. Is there anything else I can do?"

Dr. Carol Brown looked a bit startled at the sudden questioning, but yet also relieved that Mary Sue has accomplished so much. "Have you unplugged all the equipment?"

Mary Sue nodded.

"Have you shut all the hoods to minimize back-draft?" asked Carol.

Mary Sue shook her head, she hadn't thought about that. Carol nodded emphatically and herded her daughter down the hall to her main office.

Mary Sue checked that the lids on all the noxious chemicals were tightly closed in the hoods before completely lowering the sashes.

Mary Sue decided that it would be good to let Carol and her daughter get settled before asking anymore questions so she turned to the reference volumes above her desk to see if they might have any useful information about dealing with the aftermath of an EMP or what it truly was. Not even the CRC Handbook of Chemistry and Physics had anything relevant. Mary Sue felt impotent without Google and Wikipedia. She was staring at her Inorganic Chemistry textbook, open to a page on electrochemistry, when Carol came in.

"Sorry about that, my car is dead, Violet's school is closed, and John is at a conference in South Korea," said Carol.

Mary Sue just nodded, waiting for her boss to continue.

Carol asked, "How warm do you think the freezers got over the night? You didn't get a dial-a-phone warning, did you?"

Mary Sue answered the questions, "The normal freezers were still frosty, but the ultra-low freezer might have gotten up to - 40 degrees. I didn't get a warning, the system is down, as is my cell phone, and even the battery operated equipment."

"That is worrying," said Carol, calmly making a huge understatement.

Mary Sue had to restrain herself from snorting, and instead asked, "Do you know anything about EMPs?"

Carol blinked a few times, mulling over the question and its connotations. "You think someone detonated a nuclear weapon in the upper atmosphere?"

Mary Sue replied, "I can't think of another reason for all the electrical equipment, including car ignition systems and battery powered walk clocks to stop working at once. Check it out: all of the wall-clocks were stopped at the exact same time – 9:17 last night."

Carol thought some more, "Maybe a massive solar flare? I can't think of a better explanation, but there has got to be one. Since I can't review that paper I was planning on, I think I will go to the library and see if the evidence fits either hypothesis, or if there is a better explanation."

Mary Sue thought that going to the library was an excellent idea and said that she also wanted to go to the library since her data analysis plan fell through. Carol informed her daughter of her plans on going to the library, but Violet decided to stay in her mom's office and read her horse book.

* * *

**Five years after The Blackout**

Mary Sue woke up, sprawled across an empty bed. Miles must have woken up earlier. Mary Sue sat up, adjusted Miles' shirt, and padded over to Miles' window. She pulled the curtain aside, taking a look outside. It was only a bit past dawn; the November air was clear and the frost had not yet melted from the leaves on a nearby tree. Mary Sue dropped the curtain, letting it skirr down the window-frame. She started noticing how cold her feet were getting, and leapt back into Miles' bed.  _Wooden floors get cold; especially in buildings without central heating!_

Mary Sue sat on her feet a few minutes before gathering her clothing from the floor. It had been tossed haphazardly around the room last night. Mary Sue quickly dressed and preformed her morning ablution at Miles' antique washstand. She laced up her sparkly blue hiking boots and attempted to comb her hair with her fingers; she really should leave a brush at Miles' place, but he'd probably freak out, thinking it was some sign of commitment. Her hair as neat as she could make it, she stepped out into the hall of the residential wing of Independence Hall, also known as Congress Hall.

Mary Sue squared her shoulders for the impending Walk of Shame. There was no one in the hall, Mary Sue sighed silently in relief. She strode down the hall, towards the stairs, and got to the second floor landing without incident. There, a private heavily laden with hot water pails almost ran into her.

He said, "Excuse me ma'am."

Mary Sue thought she saw a hint of disapprobation in his eyes and glowered at him.

The private apologized once more and hurried up the stairs.  _Hmm, that glower worked better than expected, Miles must be rubbing off on me,_  thought Mary Sue.

Mary Sue reached the first floor residential wing and made her way out a side exit, her neck prickling with imagined knowing stares. Perhaps next time Miles should spend the night at her place. It was just a small room in the distillery, but he wouldn't be called away during the middle of the night or early in the morning. She'd try to remind Miles of the intoxicating aroma of the fermenting malt and cider and the oak casks with the aging whiskey.

Mary Sue made it through the Presidential Compound checkpoint. She knew the checkpoints and seven-foot tall fence had been added by the National Parks Service after 9-11, but they gave the Compound a real military feel; however, once past the checkpoint her neck stopped prickling, she had successfully completed the Walk of Shame, no one here would be able to tell that she had just spent the night in the bed, and arms, of the General.

Mary Sue dodged a fresh road-apple on her way to her distillery on the banks of the Schuylkill River, a good 35 minutes due west of Independence Hall. Her distillery was just across the river from the former Drexel University, which could be convenient at times. Mary Sue wondered what had happened to her old professor and her horse-crazy daughter. If Violet had lived through the tumultuous transition, she'd probably really enjoy the increased prevalence and importance of horses.

Mary Sue made good time walking through the city, trying to focus on the present not the past or the future, which wasn't too hard. The sun was burning away the frost, but the air was brisk enough to make you aware that, in the Stark family words, _Winter is Coming_.

Mary Sue had a busy day ahead of her. She had received a boatload of apples yesterday which her two apprentices and Hodor should have sorted by now. Hodor wasn't his real name, that was Caleb, but ever since he started helping her at her first distillery, she thought of the large man with Down's syndrome as Hodor. Mary Sue knew this wasn't PC and never called him Hodor, but she couldn't change the way she thought of him.

Mary Sue reached the factory that was her distillery and unlocked the side entrance. She proudly surveyed her domain. The main workroom was arrayed in thirds. The back third contained neat rows of sterilized galvanized steel trashcans with airtight lids and jerry-rigged airlocks. This was where the apple cider or beer for whiskey was fermented. In the middle third sat a boiler, and small food-mill, and her precious still. The front third of her workroom currently held four tarps with a pile of apples on each and a large stack of firewood. By the end of the day, all that would be turned into another row of fermenting cider barrels.

The apples were sorted by ripeness and Mary Sue ascertained which pile was which and grabbed an apple from the ripe pile with which to break her fast. She walked past her still, and the fermenters, to the very back of the factory. In the back were three small rooms, one had previously been an office while the other two used to be a bathroom and a break-room. The office currently served as Mary Sue's bedroom/office and the larger break-room was where the apprentices and Hodor slept. The bathroom was useless. They used an outhouse built onto the building on the side furthest from the river, and bathed in a scalding tub in the main workroom.

Mary Sue knocked on the apprentices' door. There was no response; they were probably at the neighboring farm for breakfast. She opened the door to check;  _yep they were out_. Mary Sue's distillery had a nice mutualistic relationship with the nearby corn and pig farm. Mary Sue provided her used mash to feed the hogs and unskilled labor during the spring planting season and the Coopers provided basic meals as well as chopping and hauling firewood during their slow times.

It was a lot easier to just get food from the farm than to make it themselves, and the farm had at least 15 adults and twice as many kids to feed, so feeding four more wasn't a stretch for their cook.

While waiting for her assistants to return Mary Sue went into her office/bedroom and changed out of her sexy clothes. They were her sexy clothes because the button-up shirt was still blue, not yet faded from the burn of homemade soap, and the pants were cleaner than her other pair. She pulled on her work pants and a dingy shirt, placed her earrings in the broken mug on her apple-crate bedside table and brushed her hair before pulling it up into a tight, unflattering bun. Mary Sue knew it gave her a severe, librarian sort of look, but it wouldn't do to have stray hairs falling into the cider or being singed off by the still.

Mary Sue left her room and went to check on the cider cans from six days ago. She checked the rate of CO2 bubbling in the airlocks. It had slowed from last night, indicating that it was close to bottling time. Mary Sue took off the glass airlocks and the whittled pine plugs, placing them in a rack on a table against the far wall. She carefully removed one greased lid. The air filled with the incredibly heady aroma of yeast.

Mary Sue took a clean paddle and thoroughly stirred the fermenter. She carefully smelled and tasted the yeasty cider. She continued the process with the other four cans noting the flavor and alcohol content of each can. She replaced the lids, but not in an airtight manner, and let the yeast and apple bits settle. She sat munching on an apple, waiting for her apprentices to return from the Cooper farm.


	3. Chapter Two: Two productive mornings

**The day after The Blackout**

Finding information about EMPs and solar flares proved to be more difficult than expected. First the electronic turnstiles at the library entrance wouldn't work, and only one of the campus security guards was at the front booth. After a bit of conversation with the guard, including Dr. Carol Brown throwing her weight around and name-dropping, and Mary Sue showing her student ID, the guard allowed them to jump over the turnstile.

Mary Sue leaped over the three-foot stile with ease, she didn't have the blood of Olympic hurdlers for nothing, but Carol had more difficultly. She was wearing her favorite chartreuse pantsuit, always one for looking respectable. With some effort Mary Sue and the guard managed to force the turnstile in a lower position and then Carol was able to get over it. Mary Sue glanced at the row of six wall-clocks on the library wall, each were labeled with a major international city and each had stopped at the exact same time: 2:17 in London, 3:17 in Rome, 5:17 in Dubai, and 9:17 in Beijing.

Once actually in the library, the difficulties didn't cease. The first order of business was to try to find the location for books on electromagnetic pulses and solar eruptions. Obviously the computer catalogs were down, and the university had gotten rid of the card-catalog system more than a decade ago. Who knew if undergrads these days even knew what a card-catalog was, let alone how to use one.

Mary Sue suggested going down to B3, the floor with all the science and engineering references, and wandering around until they found the right aisle. Carol politely, yet firmly, rejected that idea and went to find a librarian. Surprisingly, or maybe not too surprising, 5 of the 12 librarians were in, including one of the librarians for science and engineering.

Dr. Carol Brown asked him to direct them to the astrophysical phenomenon section, and Mary Sue piped in and said, "Or a section on electromagnetic pulses."

The librarian nodded knowingly; clearly they weren't the first ones with this idea. "I could do that, but that floor of the library is quite dark, and that section has been thoroughly picked over; but instead I could direct you to the group study room that is currently playing host to a bevy of physicists and astrophysicists arguing over what could have caused the wide spread power failure."

Carol agreed that that would be better. The librarian led them up a flight of stairs and across a bridge to the neighboring building. From there he pointed to a second floor room with about a dozen professors, most wore tweed, all had glasses, and many had thick beards. Mary Sue thought to herself _the stereotype is confirmed yet again._

Carol led the way, and greeted the two professors she knew from faculty committees. There was a brief lull in the heated arguments for introductions, and then they resumed. Mary Sue attempted to follow the thread of the arguments, but it had been almost a decade since she took Intro to Electrostatics and Magnetism, and hadn't taken any physics beyond that.

After a few minutes, one of the professors took pity on Dr. Carol and Mary Sue and pulled them aside to explain the gist of the argument. Dr. Gupta stated that there had been no increase in solar activity last night prior to the power failure, his graduate student had been using the 'scope at the time. Dr. Smith affirmed that it could not have been an EMP because he kept his sensitive equipment in a Faraday Cage – a large metal box that would have protected the equipment from any EMP-induced voltage surges – and even the rugged, battery-operated Geiger counter wasn't working. Dr. Li suggested some local ionization field that dampened electric impulses, but everyone else thought that was a crackpot idea.

As Dr. Kim finished bringing Carol, and by extension Mary Sue, up to speed, Dr. Li jumped up and started shouting, "This battery was shielded in a box of ¼ inch of lead sheeting, and it is now completely dead!" He stuck the 9V battery to his tongue, and nothing happened.

Mary Sue felt a cold shiver run down her spine. Something had gone disastrously wrong. In the hoopla inspired by this showboating trick of Dr. Li's, Mary Sue bent over to Carol and said that she was going to go add more dry ice to the freezers. Carol nodded, and Mary Sue slipped out of the room.

On her way back to lab, she stopped by the friendly librarian from before and asked where she might find information about distilling. Mary Sue already knew how to brew beer and hard cider, but thought that being able to distill whiskey and apple brandy might be useful applications of her chemistry knowledge in this soon to be post-apocalyptic world. People would still want to – no, need to – drink.

With his assistance, Mary Sue found an old-fashioned treatise on distillation and happened across one on soap-making as well. She sheepishly went to the librarian to checkout the two slim manuals, certainly the electronic checkout systems wouldn't work.

The librarian gave her a knowing look and said, "Do you think the world just ended?"

Mary Sue nodded, "But I hope I'm wrong."

* * *

Mary Sue went back to lab, told Violet that her mom was still in the library, and added more dry ice to the freezers, all the while thinking it was a futile exercise. She went to her bench and dug around in her scrap paper pile. There. She thanked her pack-rat habit of never recycling a piece of paper – even a Google map printout – until she'd used the other side as scratch paper. In her hand was a map of all of the nearby apple orchards. She packed it into her bag and went to go talk to Adi, a co-worker, who had just gotten in.

Mary Sue shared what she had done to preserve the lab equipment and samples, and what she had learned from the physics professors, but not her pessimistic feelings. As they were conversing several more lab-mates arrived and Mary Sue filled them in as well. The conversation and speculations continued for several hours, and it wasn't until Violet came into the lab looking for her mom, did Mary Sue realize it was lunchtime. Mary Sue gestured to her co-workers to shut-up in front of the kid; it was up to Carol to tell her as much as she thought she could handle.

Violet asked if she could start lunch without her mom and Mary Sue said, "That is a good idea, just don't eat all of the chocolate," with a wink.

Violet solemnly agreed and skipped back to her mom's office. The knot of scientists broke off, and Mary Sue started sneakily gathering some lab supplies. She grabbed some large thick trash bags for waterproofing, several razor blades, and some small plastic vials. She filled one with antimicrobial hand-soap and saved the others for later. These things she slipped into her bag, and she went to the conference room to eat lunch.

* * *

**Five years after The Blackout**

Mary Sue didn't have to wait long for her apprentices – Jake Cooper and Sarah – to return from breakfast, and Sarah had even brought Mary Sue a roll with scrambled eggs in the center. The neighboring Cooper farm, with which they had a symbiotic relationship, kept chickens. Mary Sue wolfed down her second breakfast while Hodor and Jake began filling the 20-gallon boiler with water. Half of the water came from the river and half came from their rainwater-catchment-system. Mary Sue had done some experiments and this ratio had the right pH and dissolved minerals to make the best cider.

Sarah began soaping down the insides of five 30-gallon galvanized steel trashcans with their homemade soap. It was harsh and squishy but got the job done. Mary Sue filled the food-mill with one bushel of apples from the "overripe" pile. She ground the load by hand until the apples were reduced to pea-sized bits.

Jake lit a fire underneath the boiler, and Hodor continued to bring pails of river water up to the distillery. Sarah rinsed the trashcans thoroughly with this water. Mary Sue emptied the contents of the food-mill into a pail and added it to the boiler. Jake stirred the boiler with a scalded paddle, distributing the apple pieces in the water; his job was to keep the mixture mixed and at a boil for 30 minutes.

In the meantime, Sarah dried the trashcans with clean rags and then began rubbing the inside of a can and a lid with moonshine. Once they were dampened she lit a small stick from the boiler's fire and lit the moonshine ablaze. It burnt with a clean blue flame; once the flame in the can and lid were close to flickering out she popped the lid on the can. It was now clean and sterile, ready to be used. Mary Sue was adamant about sterility. Even a little bit of bacteria left in the can could out compete the yeast for the sugar, producing a foul non-alcoholic brew. Sarah continued the procedure with the rest of the cans they were going to use today.

Mary Sue processed the second bushel of apples and then helped Jake and Hodor pour 1/5 of the thoroughly sterilized and mashed apples into five sterile trashcans. The boiler was on a pivot; this allowed even Mary Sue's slight 5' 2" frame to maneuver the 200lb boiler, and empty it at a 120-degree angle.

Mary Sue transferred the second batch of apple bits to the now empty boiler, and Jake filled the boiler. They would repeat this process until each of the 5 trashcans contained 20 gallons of sterile, warm, mashed apple guts.

In the meantime, Hodor helped Sarah siphon and filter the settled hard cider from six days ago that Mary Sue had taste-tested earlier that morning. The liquid contents of each can were filtered through a stack of sterile cheesecloth and transferred to a new sterile can for further settling. Mary Sue had told Sarah the grade of each can, and she instructed Hodor to move the three settling cans deemed "dry" to the bottling area and move the two cans deemed "overdone" closer to the still.

Mary Sue's four grades of cider were "sweet," "sour or plain," "dry," and "overdone." The sweet cider wasn't fully fermented; if totally settled before bottling it would yield a sweet cider. If it was not totally settled prior to bottling, it would yield a sparkling cider. The sparkling cider was the most highly prized, but hard to achieve reproducibly. The time and temperature of fermenting had to be perfect or else some of the cans would under-fermented and might explode after bottling. Sour or plain cider was easier to make and was usually bottled in 1-gallon growlers and sold to the militia by the wagonload. Dry cider had fermented more than the plain cider and even if unsettled wouldn't carbonate; even a little bit, only yielded a yeasty stout-like body. The militia would also buy this stout-cider by the wagonload. Mary Sue had been shooting for "overdone" in this batch, the grade that would make crappy cider but was perfect for distilling into Applejack.

All five cans would sit for a few hours to allow the rest of the yeast settle out. Sarah gently instructed Hodor to carry the used apple mash and dregs to the neighboring farm and feed them to the pigs.

When the fifth and last batch of apples were in the process of being boiled, Mary Sue went to her room to fetch her pride and joy – a 2-gallon glass growler with a real rubber plug and plastic airlock. This glass vessel contained the backbone of her operation, her special strain of yeast – she actually had two, one she used daily and the other a backup she refreshed every four days to maintain an alcohol-tolerant parent strain. She checked the bubbling and opacity of the liquid; the starter yeast would be ready when ever the raw cider was.

Jake added the last measure of apple bits and water to the cans, stirred them, and placed the lids on top. The cans would have to cool down past body temperature to 30 degrees Celsius or 86 degrees Fahrenheit before the starter yeast could be added. Mary Sue oversaw the pouring and filtering of the last gallon of raw apple cider through scalded cheesecloth into a sterile two-gallon growler. This too had to cool down. This would eventually become the starter yeast for tomorrow.

Mary Sue looked over her domain, the 100 gallons of raw cider would have to cool, and the 100 gallons of hard cider had to settle. Now, they could take a break, time for lunch.


	4. Chapter Three: Afternoon after all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to xyber116 for beta'ing this chapter.

**The day after The Blackout**

The lunchtime conversation was benign, a combination of discussion of the latest Science publications and a debate about how last night's Cricket match between Sri Lanka and India would have ended. However, there was a dark undercurrent of tension. By the time Carol returned from the Physics Professor Pow-wow, everyone had almost finished lunch, but they all stayed to see what information she had to share. Violet asked her mom hopefully if she could have a second piece of chocolate, one she had been eyeing for at least 15 minutes, and Carol absent-mindedly agreed. Violet looked a bit startled at her mother's easy acquiescence, but didn't dare look such a gift horse in the mouth. When her mother asked her to eat it in her office, she agreed readily, clutching the precious chocolate to her chest in a Gollum-inspired manner.

Carol looked around the table, at the graduate students and post-doctoral fellows that made up her lab. She made a faint joke about having Group Meeting early this week and got a few tense chuckles.

Carol began informing her underlings of the competing hypotheses posited by the physicists. They all nodded, Mary Sue had already conveyed much of this information. She continued and stated that the leading hypothesis was some sort of electromagnetic pulse maybe of man-made or maybe of natural origins, a pulse so strong that it left behind a temporary ionic dampening field. She continued by saying there were proponents in favor of the dampening field being localized to this quadrant of the world due to an induced dipole moment in the magnetosphere. She said that the chief evidence in favor of this hypothesis would be if they saw an Aurora Borealis tonight.

There was a palpable release of tension in the room. Dr. Carol Brown just turned a mysterious and catastrophic event into an event with testable hypotheses. And, Jackson a wisecracking post-doc added, auroras were pretty.

Mary Sue wasn't quite sure why, but she didn't really believe such a pat answer. Carol told the group that they wouldn't have Group Meeting this afternoon because, one the projector wouldn't work, and two there was going to be an assembly of all of the professors, deans, and the university president, to discuss when the power might be restored and who would foot the bill for repairing or replacing the lab equipment.

Dr. Carol asked for volunteers to keep the freezers cold for the next 48 hours, and drew the unofficial meeting to a close. The lab members went their separate ways, many to attempt to jerry-rig a Bunsen burner into a stove for boiling water to make tea. The Indians and Chinese scientists couldn't go so long without a tea break. Mary Sue grabbed her stash of granola bars from the lab cupboard and packed them away in her bag.

Mary Sue pulled Adi aside and gave him her spare key, "I don't think this is a temporary condition, and I'm getting out of the city. I know I won't make it all the way home before winter, but I'm going to try to get as far from the Eastern Seaboard as I can before everyone realizes the shit has hit the fan. If I'm wrong, let The Boss know I'll be back as soon as I can, but if I'm right, I want you to have all my stuff. I have a fresh 20lb bag of rice, some jugs of water, and some canned food. Help yourself to everything in my garden, the squash should still produce for a month or so, and I planted some fall lettuce a few weeks ago."

Adi had a three-year-old daughter, a very pregnant wife, and no way to get back home to India. He tried to convince Mary Sue that she was over-reacting and being overly pessimistic, but she stuck by her guns. She gave him the number for her parent's landline, just in case the power was restored in a year or two, and wished him the best of luck.

Mary Sue slipped out of lab while Carol was at the assembly, and started her walk home. On her way she stopped at a 7-11 to buy some supplies.

As she entered, the store clerk called out, "We're all out of ice and can't take credit cards."

"That's okay," she replied. "I'm just here for some chocolate."

Mary Sue walked over to the candy aisle and selected almost twenty bucks of quality chocolate – Lindt and Ghirardelli – as well as a bag of jerky and a 32 oz. bottle of Gatorade. She doubled back to grab a box of Maxi pads to disarm suspicion. The clerk used a pen and paper to tally her total and Mary Sue handed over thirty bucks, knowing that soon this chocolate would at least double in value.

* * *

Once home, Mary Sue used her eggs, flax seed, wheat germ, and oatmeal as well as raisins, flour, honey and brown sugar to make some homemade granola bars. As they were baking in her ancient gas stove, she began gathering her camping supplies, attempting to figure out what she would need to get as far from the Eastern Seaboard as she could before finding a nice apple orchard. It was September and the orchards would need extra hands to pick all the apples, and she could probably leverage her skills at brewing hard cider into room and board for the winter. She might even try her hand at distilling apple brandy.

She discarded her two-person tent and poles. It was too heavy. But she kept the rainfly and tent stakes. They, along with some paracord would work well for a jerry-rigged tent. She stuffed her 30-degree bag into her stuff-sack, her 0-degree bag was too heavy, and it wouldn't get that cold for at least three months, she should have a wintering-over place by then.

She gathered her Leatherman multi-tool, a folding knife, a flint-striker, matches, tinder, her compass, a map of state bike trails, the Google printout of apple orchards, and a backpacking trowel. She put the maps into a gallon-sized zip-lock bag to keep them dry.

She checked her camp-stove and fuel canister. The isobutene/propane canister was half-full, hopefully that would be enough. She pared down her cooking equipment to one 1L pot with a nice lid, a cup, and a spork. That should be enough to cook quick meals of rice or oatmeal or boil water to purify it. She went back to her kitchen to check on her granola bars, and packed a plastic baggy of rice, a baggy of couscous, and a third of instant-oatmeal. She added brown sugar and raisins directly to that bag and gave it a quick mix. She also grabbed some tea bags and a boil-in-bag pouch of dal. She fit the rice and couscous inside the 1L pot and clamped on the lid. She wedged as many tea bags and sugar packets into the blue enamel camping cup as she could. This, along with the granola bars, jerky, and some fruit snacks, would have to keep her going for at least three days.

After a few moments of inner debate, she filled her two Nalgenes with tap water. The water in her pipes should still be potable. She also grabbed her water purification tablets, and wished she hadn't lent her water filter to her little brother a few months ago.

She went down her mental list of the ten essentials for survival: Map check, compass check, sunglasses and sunscreen not yet, food check, water check, clothes not yet, flashlight if only, first aid kit not yet, fire-starter check, knife check.

On to clothing. She dug out her favorite pair of jeans, a snap-up cowboy shirt, a light jacket, and her hiking boots to wear tomorrow. Her hiking boots may be blue and sparkly, but they were also waterproof, broken in, and ankle-protecty. She packed yoga pants and a yoga top as jammys/back-up clothes, as well as a heavy jacket, sunhat, warm hat, bandana, gloves, two pair of undies, and six pair of socks. You could never pack too many socks when camping… or hiking for your life. She rolled everything but one pair of socks and the sunhat into a pillow-like roll.

Mary Sue grabbed her car-camping first aid kit and started to go through it, discarding anything bulky or heavy such as the chemical ice pack. She also pared down the number of bandages to a few of each size and set aside most of the gazillion alcohol wipes. She supplemented the allergy meds with everything in her medicine cabinet. If the world had in fact ended – with a whimper instead of a bang – she'd need as much allergy drugs as she could get. She also added the two Vicodin leftover from her wisdom-teeth-removal to the painkillers already in the kit. She included some calcium supplements and some condoms.

Then she went through her travel toiletry kit and grabbed a small tube of sunscreen, bug-off wipes, a toothbrush, travel-sized toothpaste, and shampoo. She transferred these items to the small, shoebox-sized, soft-strong first-aid kit and added her backup glasses with attachable sunglasses and her Epipen. She filled one of the empty vials from lab with dish-soap and added that plus the anti-microbial hand-soap vial to the kit. She also gathered some needles and thread for repairs, the razor blades from lab, and an emergency fishing kit. The kit had been a gag-gift from her little brother, she hated fish, but it would probably be very valuable for barter. She zipped the full first aid kit up.

Barter, right… what else did she have that would be valuable? Besides the chocolate she just bought she had some rum. She filled her Star Trek hipflask up with rum – the flask had been a gift from a close college friend. Mary Sue wondered if she'd ever see her again - she was teaching in Abu Dhabi. Mary Sue also had some seeds leftover from her garden and the yeast she had bought to brew some hard cider. The yeast would be far more valuable in her hands, but she did have 10 packets, so she could spare some. Mary Sue placed these trade items in a pile and went to her bedroom and opened up her jewelry box. She didn't really have anything too valuable, but the semi-precious earrings and necklace pendants might be worth a meal to someone, and if she got desperate enough, she might fool someone into thinking the cubic zirconia was diamond. She found her passport and travel pouch and transferred her driver's license, a credit card, her social security card, and her health insurance card – maybe she was wrong, and these things would be helpful to have. She transferred all the cash she had, almost $300, and the jewelry to the pouch.

What would she do for a flashlight replacement? She mulled this over for a while, candles were pretty bulky, and then realized that she had some citronella tea lights. They could serve two purposes, light and bug repellant.

Her granola bars started to smell done so she checked on them, they were close not quite.

Now for the actual packing… She folded her rainfly up part way and placed in her school backpack – she thought taking her backpacking bag would be an advertisement to be robbed – and arranged it as a water-proof liner for the main compartment. She dropped the tent stakes, paracord, and Leatherman in the bottom of her bag as a tent kit. Next she wanted something light to balance the weight better – her clothes roll. On top of the clothes she placed the small treatises from the library and the first aid kit. The kit didn't take up quite as much room as the clothes so she had a nice hole for something that would be soft against the back. TP! She went to the bathroom and grabbed a roll of toilet paper. She carefully removed the inner cardboard tube to save space and weight and put the roll in a zip-lock bag. There, it fit perfectly. She placed her light jacket, sunhat, poncho and one pair of socks on top of the main compartment and folded the rainfly over it.

She turned her attention to the foodstuffs. She placed a thick plastic bag she stole from lab in the secondary compartment and neatly organized her pot, cup, stove, and food in the now waterproof compartment. She added one of boxes of matches and tinder and that compartment was done – for now.

She split her vital gear - knife, a flint-striker, matches, compass, map, water purifying tablets, whistle, and emergency poncho between the "pencil-pouch" of the backpack and a camera case turned belt-pouch. She added a few bandages and a granola bar from work to the belt-pouch and strapped it as well as her 10" Bowie knife to her belt.

She placed her Nalgenes in the side water-bottle mesh pouches and snapped her sleeping bag stuff sack to the bottom of her bag. She tied the backpacking trowel to the outside of the pack. She hefted the backpack to her back.  _Hmm, about 25lbs, totally doable if it is well balanced._

She walked with the almost fully loaded bag to the kitchen and pulled out the granola bars, placing the baking dish on a trivet. She walked back to her pile o' gear and plopped the backpack onto the sofa.

Mary Sue transferred the passport pouch and barterable items into the smallest outer compartment, stopping to add two packets of cider yeast to her vitals belt-pouch. She looked at the 7-11 bag with the Gatorade and the Maxi pads and decided that she should pack the pads as well. She took them out of the hard cardboard box and sealed them in a zip-lock bag. These she placed in the main compartment underneath the easy-access clothing.

Mary Sue placed her bag next to the clothes she was going to wear tomorrow and noticed her gardening gloves and walking stick in the corner. Those would be nice. She slid the gloves under the rainfly and to the bottom of the pack, and propped the walking stick next to the pack. Her packing done, it was time to fix dinner, a last meal of sorts.

* * *

**Five years after The Blackout**

Lunch at the Cooper farm consisted of the winter staples of cornbread, baked beans, salt pork, butternut squash, and baked apples. It was fairly bland and starchy, but filling and orders of magnitude better than what Mary Sue could have made. The lunchtime conversation mainly focused which farm-girl had her eye on which militia officer. Several of the Cooper girls had their eye Alec Penner, Miles' protégé.

The topic of conversation made Mary Sue nervous. She was never very good at girl talk, and sooner rather than later one of the young women would ask her about Miles.

"So how is General Matheson?" Coyly asked Jessica Cooper, a girl not more than 16.

"He is resting after a mission he lead to attempt to destroy the army from New Jersey," replied Mary Sue, deliberately misconstruing the girl's question.

The girl looked confused for a moment and Mary Sue shoveled the rest of her baked apples into her mouth and grabbed a piece of cornbread for the road.

"I'll see you at the distillery," Mary Sue told Jake Cooper and Sarah. As she left the table she could hear Jake rib his younger sister, jokingly reminding her that everyone knew the General had sworn her to secrecy. If Mary Sue told, he'd have to kill her. Some of the younger children seemed to believe it; the sad thing was there were so many rumors about President Monroe and General Matheson, even adults would believe almost anything about them.

Mary Sue walked back to the distillery and proceeded to give the trashcans of raw cider a good stir and placed her hand on the outside of each can to take its temperature. She did have one precious glass thermometer, but she had done this so many times that she didn't need to it take out. The cans were about body temperature, and still needed to cool a bit. Mary Sue manhandled them away from the still and to a fresh, cold spot of cement.

Mary Sue went to the back of the factory and down the semi-hidden stair to her storeroom. One of the best things about the factory was the full basement. Along the back short wall were the whiskey barrels from the past two winters. The first year's crop of 100 was on their sides, while last year's was still upright. You had to rotate whiskey to allow the alcohol to leach the flavors out of the charred oak barrels. This process took at least five years.

Directly underneath the boiler were shelves and shelves of cider bottles. The cider needed to be stored a bit warmer than everything else in order to finish fermenting. Across the room were shelves of fifths of un-aged Applejack and one shelf of double-distilled moonshine. Mary Sue mainly used this for sterilization but also sold some to doctors for the same purpose. About one half of the basement contained clean trashcans, 100 virgin white oak barrels – they arrived from Mr. Williamson just last week, soon it would be time to switch to making whiskey – and crates of clean glass bottles, fifths, and growlers.

Mary Sue grabbed two crates of clean growlers and carried them upstairs, setting them down beside the bottling table. She repeated the process until Jake, Sarah, and Hodor returned from lunch. She instructed them to bring up more growlers and sixty of their precious bottle caps. Unused bottle caps to seal up the bottles were a limited resource, Mary Sue had done some experiments with a jerry-rigged beeswax-tin foil combo, but it didn't work very well.

Mary Sue grabbed three lengths of clean plastic tubing and started unwinding them as she walked back to the three trashcans. She removed the lid propped on top of one and primed the tubing with the hard cider. She used the tubing to siphon the semi-settled cider, transferring it into a clean growler. She continued the process, filling each of the four growlers in the crate.

Jake and Sarah began on the other two cans and Mary Sue instructed Hodor to carry the full crate over to the capping area and grabbed a crate of empties. They made short work of the cider and were soon were crimping the bottle caps onto the growlers. Hodor carried the capped growlers downstairs and Mary Sue oversaw their placement, and labeled the shelf with the bottling date and cider grade.

Mary Sue stirred the raw cider and checked its temperature. It was maybe 85 degrees, perfect. She poured one fifth of the gallon of happy active yeast into each trashcan as Sarah stirred rapidly. Jake followed behind re-greasing the lids, sealing the cans, and placing a plug and airlock in the hole in the lid. The airlock was a bulbous u-bend of glass with an ounce or so of moonshine in the bubble. It would allow CO2 out but not let bacteria in. Mary Sue poured the gallon of sterile, filtered, raw cider into the now mostly empty 2-gallon growler and gave it a shake. She then replaced the rubber plug and plastic airlock. This would grow up overnight and be tomorrow's starter yeast.

That being completed, Mary Sue turned to the process of distilling the other two trashcans of hard cider into Applejack. Mary Sue double-checked that her copper still was clean and the screw-like threads on the top of the pot had a thin, continuous ring of grease. Jake and Sarah began siphoning the hard cider from one can into clean buckets and pouring them into the still. Mary Sue started a small fire in the fireplace underneath the still, you needed to control the temperature of the still, and therefore a small fire was best.

Once the still-pot was full and the cider was getting hot-tub hot – maybe 150 degrees Fahrenheit – Mary Sue screwed on the still-head and the long copper condenser. She placed a clean metal pail underneath the end of the condenser. She poked at the fire for a while waiting to hear the tink of the first drop of the "head." She listened to the steady tink-tink-tink of the singling dripping into the pail. Once the pail contained maybe a half-gallon she replaced it with a 5-gallon glass carboy. She poured the "head" into the other trashcan of cider, the cider yet to be distilled.

Jake and Sarah went about other needed chores – cleaning the boiler, and the used trashcans, then washing and scalding more glass bottles, fifths, and growlers. When the still reached a steady equilibrium dripping rate, Mary Sue stepped in and helped scrub out some glass bottles, keeping half her mind and both ears on her still. She would stop frequently to test the temperature of the still-head and adjust the fire to keep the dripping slow and consistent. When the liquid level reached near the top of the second carboy the dripping slowed. Mary Sue tested the still-head – it was heating up, she switched the carboy for the pail and caught the last pint or so of tailings before killing the fire. She poured the tailings into the trashcan of cider yet to be distilled.

Both the head and the tailings would be more alcoholic than the hard cider, but not at the fifty or sixty proof of the rest of the singlings. Mary Sue let the still cool down and had Hodor lift the carboys up to the bottling table. She and Hodor carried up several crates of clean fifths. Mary Sue quickly used a siphon to fill up 45 fifths and sealed them with wine-corks. Hodor carried the Applejack downstairs and Mary Sue gingerly took off the hot head. The pot ale still steamed, and Mary Sue thanked her "lab hands" - the developed ability to stand high temperatures for short periods of time.

Once open to the air, the pot ale cooled down rapidly, and Mary Sue and Hodor emptied the still, Hodor carried the buckets of low-alcohol pot ale to the Cooper farm's hog slop trough. Mary Sue gave the still a quick scrub, the residual yeast could stick to the copper sides and scorch if not removed, but she'd give it a more thorough scrub after the last batch. She refilled the still and began the process again.

Mary Sue was in the process of reattaching the still-head when she heard the main door open. Sarah and Jake stopped their scrubbing and said, "Good afternoon, sir" in unison.

Mary Sue turned around and saw Miles standing in her distillery. He was wearing his dress uniform with the black coat, shiny buttons, and thick leather belt. His gravity-defying hair was greased back and his mere presence was enough to send a wave of warm moisture trickling to her core.

Mary Sue stammered a welcome, and Miles ran his fingers through his hair and wiped his hand absentmindedly on his uniform trousers.

Miles licked his lips and glanced meaningfully at her assistants. They either didn't get, or refused to follow, his silent command for privacy. He continued despite the audience, "Um, I have an exciting surprise dinner planned, if you're free."

The wave of moisture increased to a cascade as Mary Sue was charmed by Miles' adorkable manner, "I'm kinda busy here, just filled the still." She said regretfully.

Jake piped in, "I can handle the still; you know I can."

Mary Sue nodded, Jake had been her apprentice for more than two full years, and there was almost nothing she didn't trust him to do, except maybe the second distillation of the whiskey, but that was mostly because she was a perfectionist.

"Yeah, Mary Sue, go enjoy your sexy date," said Sarah.

Miles looked like he was getting more uncomfortable, and after reassurances that Jake and Sarah would distill the Applejack and clean up everything thoroughly for tomorrow, she was chivvied out of her own distillery and onto Miles' mare Zeppelin for a "meal to end all meals."


	5. Chapter Four: Dinner is the most important meal of the day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to xyber116 for beta'ing this chapter.

**The day after The Blackout**

Mary Sue grabbed the two mostly-thawed chicken breasts from her cooler and sliced them into strips. She soaked some rice-noodles in hot water as the strips finished thawing, and sliced the remaining bell pepper. She heated some oil in a frying pan and began to stir-fry the chicken. As the pieces began to brown, she washed some lettuce and arranged it on a plate. She gave the chicken a stir and added the bell pepper to the frying pan. She poked at the rice-noodles and grabbed some sesame-ginger dressing from the now warm fridge. She stirred the chicken and peppers once more, and drained the rice noodles, piling them on top of the lettuce. Once the chicken and peppers were fully cooked, she plated them on top of the rice-noodles and poured a generous portion on sesame-ginger dressing on top.

Mary Sue wanted to eat as much calories as possible, but also load up on veggies, since they would be impossible to bring along; this Chinese chicken salad fit the bill perfectly, and was delicious. She ate until she was stuffed – two chicken breasts was more meat than she usually had in three days – and then she cut the cooled granola bars into bars and filled several plastic bags. She put the bags of bars on the top of the food compartment in her backpack and tied the waterproof bag shut.

Then Mary Sue cleaned her dishes. Maybe she'd be back, or maybe Adi would want to use them. She looked outside and estimated that it was maybe seven o'clock. She wanted to get out of the city the first thing in the morning – traveling at night would be stupid – and she wanted to get out of the city before everyone figured out no one was coming to save them. Mary Sue took a lukewarm shower; the water-heater still had some residual heat left, and it was likely to be more than she'd get in a long time.

Mary Sue knew she wouldn't be able to get to sleep for hours, if at all, and after toweling off, grabbed her friend and boon companion – Ender's Game. She read fitfully until dusk began to fall, she got up, took a Benadryl with a large glass of milk to try to help her get to sleep, and kissed the faithful book goodnight and goodbye.

Mary Sue stared out at the night sky hoping, but not expecting, to see an aurora. Eventually, the Benadryl began to work, and Mary Sue slipped into an agitated slumber, her dreams full of things forgotten and mistakes made.

* * *

**Two days after The Blackout**

Mary Sue woke with a start; she didn't hear any birds. Had she slept through the dawn? She ran to her bedroom window and looked out – it was still dark, but there was a hint of pre-dawn gloaming lightening the sky. Mary Sue lit a pillar candle and walked to the kitchen. She fished out some coffee filters to serve as crude water filters – something she had thought over in the middle of the night. She started her morning teakettle and poured a bowl of cereal.

She made her tea and ate her breakfast mechanically; her mind was on her journey. Her plan was to follow the train-tracks north, straight out of the city, until she had left the suburban outer neighborhoods behind. Then the plan was to follow the bike map west-northwest to apple country. If she made good time, she could make it to Gettysburg in two days. Mary Sue thought Gettysburg would be a good place to try to find a wintering spot. It was fairly far from any big cities, was surrounded by apple orchards, and the museums and re-enactors would probably have good historical tips on how to survive without power.

Mary Sue rinsed her bowl, mug, and spoon, and then dressed with care. She pulled on a clean pair of panties, thick socks, and her favorite bra. Next she stepped into her favorite jeans, and snapped on the cowboy shirt. She buckled her genuine leather belt – with the vitals pouch and Bowie knife – and laced up her sparkly blue hiking boots. She packed the coffee filters and dug her light jacket out of her pack – it was bound to be a bit nippy outside. She chugged the last of her milk. The extra calories would be good, and so would the fluid.

Mary Sue debated whether or not to take out her trash, and decided, why not. She tied up the kitchen trash and carried it downstairs, out the front door, and to the alleyway. She started a group of alley cats and wondered how long it would be until people started trying to eat them.

Mary Sue walked back into her apartment and surveyed her material possession with a tear in her eye. She said goodbye to her books, her DVDs, her computer, her Kindle, her houseplants, and even Robbie her Rumba. Shaking off the nostalgia, Mary Sue pulled on her pack, grabbed her walking stick, and headed back outside, locking the apartment behind her. To keep her spirits up she started humming The Road Goes Ever On from The Lord of the Rings.

* * *

**Five years after The Blackout**

Mary Sue mounted Miles' horse Zeppelin, placing her foot in the stirrups and using the momentum of Miles' pull to propel her up and into the saddle. She settled herself down, wedged between the high cantle of Mile's western saddle and his firm back.

Miles goaded his horse to a canter and Mary Sue wrapped her arms around his waist and gripped his belt-loops to hold on during the bouncing, her face rubbing against his uniform coat. She attempted to smell the Miles combination of sweat, leather, horse, and gunpowder over the strong smell of tannic acid from the coat and the obvious horsiness of his mare.

She tried using her thighs to grip the horse, but the angle at which she was seated made that impossible. The jostling of the horse's gait was continuing what Miles' mere presence started. Mary Sue was wet and ready to go. She started not caring about "the exciting surprise dinner" Miles had in store for her; she was ready to rumble. Mary Sue shifted slightly in the saddle, allowing the friction from the rolling gait to rub her clitoris against the seam of her jeans. The ten-minute ride was sufficient to bring her anticipation up to a high burn without bringing her over the crest.

Upon reaching the Presidential Compound checkpoints, Miles dismounted easily from Zeppelin and reached up for Mary Sue. She slid down the cantle to the seat and threw her right leg over the horse. She then slid down into Miles' arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist and using both hands pulled his face up to hers, bestowing an ever-deepening kiss upon him.

Panting, Mary Sue broke off the kiss and, placing her hands on Miles shoulders while releasing her thigh's grip about his waist, she carefully controlled her descent, teasingly rubbing her fly against his.

"Dinner can wait for an hour or so, don't you think?" brazenly asked Mary Sue.

Miles licked his lips and ran his hand through his greased back hair, looking more than a little sheepish about the PDA, but agreed heartily to the proposed schedule change. Dazed, he handed Zeppelin's reins off to the nearest NCO and followed Mary Sue to his bedroom.

Mary Sue wasn't quite sure what had come over her, in the Independence Hall courtyard of all places, but damn it, she had needs and Miles possessed great skill at satisfying them.

Mary Sue released her hair from the bun, letting it tumble freely in waves as she waited for Miles to open the his bedroom door and once in the room, she ran her hands up his lapel-line and slid them underneath the shoulders of his uniform coat. She pulled it off in one smooth motion, letting it drop soundlessly to the floor. She unbuttoned the top button of his militia uniform shirt and worked her way down. Once she had popped the last button of his shirt, she began kissing her way up the little stripe of hair along his midsagittal plane, the midline of his chest, giving his Adam's apple a kiss before stopping and pulling her own work-shirt off.

Miles' passivity over, he grabbed Mary Sue's slight love-handles and pulled her into a throat-swabbing, womb-tingling kiss. She groaned and leaned into him, rubbing her almost bare torso against his. He popped the clasp of her bra and she shrugged off the straps, letting it fall to the floor. Miles caressed each breast and lightly, teasingly kissed each nipple.

After Mary Sue regained her breath, she bluntly asked, "Foreplay over?" Miles nodded and Mary Sue unlaced her sparkly blue hiking boots and they each kicked off their pants and underwear; Miles grabbed a condom from his stash, and they reunited on Miles' bed.

* * *

Mary Sue and Miles were lying on the bed reveling in the afterglow. Miles propped himself up on his elbow and said, "I should plan 'exciting surprise dinners' more often.

Mary Sue chuckled and responded honestly, "It wasn't because of the dinner; it was more because of the horseback ride… and getting to play hooky."

Miles licked his lips and semi-jokingly said, "Well, then, I hope you don't go riding with many other guys."

Mary Sue soberly responded, "I haven't gone riding with anyone but you in a long time, and I don't foresee that changing."

Miles rolled back down to his back, clearly not wanting to continue the sensitive topic. Mary Sue obliged him and hopped out of bed. "So, I believe I was promised a surprise dinner?" she teasingly asked.

Miles, grateful for the subject change, agreed and the pair began re-dressing. Once both were dressed, Miles smoothed down his greased hair and led Mary Sue to small conference room. On the way, he stopped a corporal and told him to let the kitchen know they were ready for their dinner. The corporal 'yes sir'ed' and went to accomplish his task.

Miles grandiosely opened the door and escorted Mary Sue in. The room had been outfitted as if a Tex-Mex restaurant had thrown up. There were sombreros, maracas, and images of cacti around the room. On the sidebar sat a bottle of rum, a pile of limes, a glass juicer, and an unlabeled bottle of clear liquid. The table was covered with a bright red tablecloth and two bowls. One bowl contained what appeared to be true tortilla chips and the other contained salsa.

Mary Sue rushed over to the chips and took a bite out of one. The chips  **were**  tortilla chips, in all their salty crunchy goodness. Mary Sue dipped a chip in the salsa bowl and sampled the salsa. The delightful medley of tomato, onion, cilantro, and at least two different peppers warmed her taste-buds. She groaned with near orgasmic pleasure. Miles brought over two traditional lime daiquiris and Mary Sue paused to take the cocktail glass and kiss Miles chastely on the cheek.

"Thank you Miles, this is amazing." She said.

"Oh, don't thank me yet," he smugly retorted, "The best has yet to come; Save room for the main meal."

Mary Sue was intrigued and attempted to get Miles to tell her what the entrée was, but no matter how much feminine wiles she used, he refused to spill. Mary Sue was perched on top of Miles' lap, holding both of his hands in hers, kissing and nibbling his ear when the conference door opened. Mary Sue practically teleported off of Miles lap and accosted the poor junior cook demanding to know what was under the plate covers.

The poor young man glanced at Miles. Miles gave him a wry look, and subtly nodded. The cook took off a cover, revealing a plate with three partly unwrapped tamales covered in a green tomatillo sauce. Mary Sue was astounded. She hadn't had good tamales since she moved to the East Coast after college, let alone since The Blackout.

Mary Sue hurriedly sat down next to Miles; the sooner she was settled, the sooner she could sample these tamales. She heartfeltly thanked the cook as he placed the dish in front of her, and politely waited for Miles' to be settled. She vibrated with excitement.

Miles folded his hands underneath his chin and motioned her to commence. She fully unwrapped the corn husk and dug in, grabbing a forkful of masa. She tasted the nixtamalized ground corn and sighed with contentment. The next forkful contained an equal proportion of masa and filling. The filling was pork stewed in a green-chile-based sauce and was heavenly. Mary Sue single-mindedly consumed and relished the tamale.

After finishing the tamale she turned to Miles and asked, "How… Why… How?" Miles just gave her a Cheshire Cat grin, and Mary Sue rephrased the question, "How did you know I loved and missed tamales? How did you get these?"

This time Miles answered her questions, "You remember that first night?"

Mary Sue nodded, "Vaguely, I was pretty hammered."

Miles said, "Well when I asked you what you missed most from Before, you said Mexican food, especially Linda's green-chile pork tamales."

Mary Sue look surprised that he remembered that, he had consumed a LOT more alcohol than she had, and she hardly remembered what they had talked about at all.

Miles continued, "Well, I didn't try to find Linda, but I asked the Texan ambassador to spread word that the Monroe Republic was looking for a Mexican chef. One arrived a week ago, with a wagonload of supplies, spices, and seeds – even some cocoa powder from South America."

In the few months Mary Sue had sort of been with Miles, she had learned that he wasn't very good with words, especially when it came to his emotions, but in this case his actions spoke far more than mere words ever could.

She knelt down by his chair, took his hands in hers, held eye contact, and thanked him, "This is amazing Miles, simply extraordinary. This is more than anyone has done for me. Ever."

Miles licked his lips and rubbed his chin, the habitual scruff gone. Mary Sue knew he was getting uncomfortable, so broke the mood, "Now, if you could get me a few lessons with this new chef, then I'd owe you some big-time reward sex."

Miles continued the joke, "But I thought I just got some!"

Mary Sue corrected him teasingly; "It's only positive reinforcement if it happens directly  _after_  the behavior you are trying to encourage, not before."

Miles asked, "So am I still due some reward sex?"

Mary Sue grinned broadly and joked in a pseudo-monotone voice, "Yeah, yeah, let me finish my dinner first."

Mary Sue and Miles enjoyed the rest of their meal, and went back to his room for a second round of sex.

* * *

When Mary Sue woke up the next morning, Miles was actually there. Mary Sue did a mental tally, and that had happened in maybe 15% of the mornings she had slept over. He must have left explicit instructions not to be disturbed after the "the exciting surprise dinner." Mary Sue crawled over the bed to Miles' sleeping form and disappeared under the covers. She slipped off his boxers, for some reason he had felt the need to put them back on last night.

Mary Sue softly stroked his morning erection and licked the ridge along the base of his penis before taking it into her mouth. After maybe a minute of licking and sucking, Miles woke with a groan of pleasure. Mary Sue brought him to completion and swallowed the ejaculate. She crawled up the bed and nuzzled against Miles' chest.

Miles sleepily said, "That was nice."

Mary Sue grinned against his chest and said, "Well, last night was nice too."

Miles replied, "I love you."

Mary Sue responded, "I know."

They lay there for a while, Miles enjoying his afterglow, Mary Sue enjoying the contentment she seemed to only be able to find his in arms.

After maybe 15 minutes Miles' brain kicked in, and he asked indigently, "Did you just Han Solo me?"

Mary Sue sat up in bed, rolling over to get a good look at Miles' face. "I love you too, but you made  **that**  clear last night. You don't import a chef from Texas for somebody you just like, or only really enjoy having sex with; you do it for someone you love. You are a hard man to get to know, but I think I am starting to, and you are a sappy romantic at heart, and I love you for it."

Miles neither confirmed nor denied the statement, and instead said, "Good, I just wanted to do something for you before I had to leave for New Jersey again."

Mary Sue tried to suppress the disappointment in her voice, she didn't want to turn into Super-Clingy Girlfriend Girl, "When are you leaving?"

"This afternoon." Miles responded.

"How long will you be gone?" Was answered with, "I don't know, a month, maybe more."

"Just one more important question," stated Mary Sue, and she saw Miles steel himself for something bad, "Can you send a messenger to my distillery telling them to start without me?"

Miles warned her awkwardly, "Yeah, sure… but I have things I need to do today."

Mary Sue replied, "I understand, and if you'd rather I leave you to your work, I totally get it, but if there is anyway I might help…"

Miles licked his lips and scrubbed his new scruff. Mary Sue could see that he was pondering the best way to tell her that he really didn't have time for her today. Today he needed to focus on being General Matheson.

Mary Sue bent over and kissed him, "Hey, it's okay, I understand. You know where I am when you come back victorious. I'll be hoping for your safe return." Mary Sue rolled out of bed and began dressing.

"Hey, hey, hey wait! I have a nice breakfast planned!" Said Miles.

Mary Sue stopped dressing and crawled back in bed next to him, releasing her bittersweet smile from the stranglehold she had held it until she knew he wouldn't be able to see it. This was what is must be like to date someone who would make history. It was a good thing she was pretty independent, and had a satisfying job; otherwise this situation would be untenable.


	6. Chapter Five: Put one foot in front of the other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to xyber116 for beta'ing this chapter.

**Two days after The Blackout**

Mary Sue had been walking for maybe five hours, and she had just reached the outer ring of suburbs. The sun was high in the sky and Mary Sue was sweating fiercely. For the first two hours she was able to maintain a brisk pace, covering eight miles, but then her endurance began to flag and the sun begun to rise higher in the sky. Mary Sue started stopping every 30 minutes to drink some well-watered Gatorade. She had finished the Gatorade maybe an hour ago, but put the empty bottle in her bag. It might be useful later.

The morning had been fairly uneventful. She hadn't seen anyone on the train-tracks. The only rough patch was when she was attempting to cross the Beltway. She saw some suspicious-looking people walking and cycling along the highway and she gripped her walking stick like a staff. They didn't bother her, and she was able to continue follow the train-tracks north.

Mary Sue entered the suburban town furthest north of the city. This town had had a nice Wegman's, but it was probably closed. Mary Sue was down to one liter of water – she  _could_  start rationing it until she got far enough from the city that the water would be cleaner – or she could try to buy some in this town.

Mary Sue was in luck; she saw a gas station just a few blocks west of the train-tracks. She walked to the store. A grumpy looking man in his 70's was sitting outside the store.

"What do you want?" he asked suspiciously, taking note of her gear.

"I was looking to see if I could buy some water, please." Mary Sue responded.

The man grunted and replied, "Five bucks for a half-gallon."

Mary Sue knew this was outrageous, but wordlessly dug out a fiver and paid the man. He went into the store a grabbed a half-gallon jug of store-brand water. Mary Sue thanked him and continued along the western heading road. It was probably time to head to apple country, before people got more suspicious and started cheating more, or worse.

She walked along the road for a half-mile before stopping to fill her Nalgene and Gatorade bottles from the flimsy plastic jug. She drank the remainder of the water and left the jug; maybe someone could reuse it. She felt bad about leaving it on the side of the street, but she couldn't use it, and the waste-management system was now meaningless.

She pulled out her map. She munched on two granola bars, looking at the state roads and designated bike paths. Soon she should come across a smallish looking road – maybe gravel – which would head northwest for 4 miles before crossing a bike path that would head west into apple country. She had her game plan for the next few hours. She finished the granola bar and repacked the bike map.

Onwards she walked.

* * *

Mary Sue looked at her map again in the fading light. It looked like she had only gotten 24 miles from the city. She supposed that going 1.5 miles in 20 minutes did not directly correspond to going 36 miles in a day, but was still disappointed.

For the past few miles she had been passing houses of gentlemen-farmers and horse breeders and decided to stop at the next farmhouse and ask if she could camp in their backyard. In less than a half mile, she saw a gravel driveway with a sign reading Blue Fairie Horses, Mary Sue turned up the driveway and after a few bends, ended up in front of a large farmhouse with a red front door, three dormers on the second level, a large attached three-car garage with a nearby barn with plenty of fenced-in pastures.

She put on her most innocent looking face and knocked at the front door. After a while a woman in her mid-sixties answered the door, unlocking it but keeping the door-chain on.

Mary Sue strove to look even more innocent and said, "Can I camp-out on your lawn?"

The woman gave her a suspicious glance and asked, "What is a girl like you walking about in a time like this?"

Mary Sue trotted out her prepared story, "My best friend is getting married in Pittsburgh on Sunday; I'm her maid-of-honor, and I've just  **got** to get to Pittsburgh by Sunday."

The woman's face softened slightly, "Hon, Pittsburgh is 200 miles away; there is no way you'll get there by Sunday on foot."

Mary Sue continued the Pollyanna impression and replied, "Maybe not, but maybe this weird power thing with the cars and everything will get fixed, or maybe it's only right around here, and things work closer to Pittsburgh. All's I know is that I've got to get to Pittsburgh for my friend's wedding."

The Pollyanna act was enough to sway the woman, and she said that it was okay with her, and thus her husband, that Mary Sue camp on the lawn.

Mary Sue thanked her, and before the woman could fully shut the door, Mary Sue asked if she could buy some water.

The woman reopened the door and replied, "We've got a well, but the electric pump ain't working. We do have an old-fashioned manual pump – mostly 'cause the grandkids love it – over by the barn, feel free to use it.

Mary Sue used her walking stick, rainfly, paracord, and tent stakes to rig up a small tent in the corner of the nice woman's lawn. She refilled her water bottles and set up her camp stove on the driveway, she rapidly brought a pint of water to a boil and added in some jerky pieces and a cup of rice. She closed the lid and brought the stove down to its lowest setting. She filled her mug with water and brought that to a boil, switching between mug and pot as to not waste the heat, but not over-boil the rice-pot. Once the mug reached a boil she added a bag of an herbal tea and let it steep.

She sipped her hot mint tea and watched the rice. Once the rice was mostly cooked she turned off the stove and let it sit. After five or ten minutes –  _it's hard to keep track of time when you're hungry_  – Mary Sue lifted the pot lid off and gave the jerky-rice a stir. It was cooked. She wolfed down the rice, savoring the salty, umami-ness of the jerky.

Her stomach contently full, Mary Sue licked the pot clean and then washed it under the manual water pump. She lay out her sleeping bag underneath the tent, and on top of the leftover bits of rainfly. She unpacked her clothes bundle and first aid kit. She changed into her PJs, fresh underwear, and socks, and rubbed a bug-off wipe on her face, neck, and the back of her hands. She rerolled her clothes into a pillow-like bundle and placed her whistle and Bowie knife underneath. She hoped she wouldn't have to use the knife in self-defense, but better safe than sorry.

Mary Sue slept uneasily that night, imaging each rustle was a raping Reaver driven mad by The Black.

* * *

**Five years after The Blackout**

Mary Sue walked by the Presidential Compound Kitchens, looking to spot the new Mexican chef. She didn't; however, she did see two privates loading a wagon with crates of empty bottles and growlers. Some of the wooden crates had an image of a fat-bottomed dragonfly burnt into them.

She asked the privates, "Are you going to Firefly Distillery?"

One of them confirmed her supposition with a "Yes ma'am."

She nonchalantly asked, "Can I get a ride with you fine soldiers? I have to go there myself."

The first private shrugged and replied, "Sure, why not."

Mary Sue helped them finish loading the wagon, carefully placing the glass bottles on the bottom layer and balancing the growlers on top. She didn't adjust what they had already loaded, but she wanted to, badly. The apprentice glassblowers in Philly could make more growlers, but the beer bottles were harder to replace.

Once the wagon was fully loaded, one of the privates returned to another duty and the other urged the horses to a walk.

The private turned to Mary Sue and said, "I'm Private Johnson. What is your business at the Firefly Distillery ma'am, and don't you think it's silly to name a distillery after a bug?"

Mary Sue smiled, "I'm Mary Sue, and I didn't name my distillery after a bug, I named it after a TV show."

She began to sing. She knew she was a pretty poor singer, her voice was breathy and she had a hard time keeping pitch, but this song she could sing well. "Take me out to the Black/ Tell them I ain't comin' back/ I don't care, I'm still free/ You can't take my distillery from me."

The private's face reddened as he put together the pieces of evidence. This woman owned a distillery. General Matheson's latest tumble owned a distillery. Therefore, he just insulted General Matheson's girl, to her face. He was doomed.

Mary Sue chuckled at the private's countenance, "At ease solider; no harm, no foul."

Private Johnson eyed the nondescript blonde with sparkly blue hiking boot and thought _she should have come with a warning label! She doesn't look at all like someone The General oughta be attracted to_.

The rest of the 20-minute wagon ride was incredibly uncomfortable. The militiaman wanted to make a better impression on Mary Sue, and Mary Sue wanted to be distracted from thinking about Miles, but neither knew how to achieve their goals.

Once they arrived at Mary Sue's distillery, the private was all business; he carefully carried loads of crates into the distillery. Mary Sue checked on her assistants, they were in the process of making the raw cider and didn't need her help, so she helped the private carry in the crates.

In short order, the wagon was unloaded and the private made his awkward goodbyes. Mary Sue taste-tested the transferred cider from six days ago and confirmed Jake's initial grading. They all were "plain or sour", and would have to settle at least 6 hours before bottling.

Mary Sue needed something with which to distract herself, but was being hindered at every turn. She filled up a spare, un-sterilized trashcan with water and placed it next to the boiler's fire to heat up, she was going to clean and scald the growlers they just got back from the militia. The growlers were "clean" but were also apprentice made, so they had uneven thicknesses and bubbles that made them difficult to get really clean. And damn it, Mary Sue was gonna get them so clean they shined, never mind that thick bubbly glass wasn't meant to shine.

Mary Sue attacked the growlers with a vengeance, and by the time Jake and Sarah were done with the raw cider, her hands were raw and red from the harsh handmade soap and her bottlebrush was bent in order to allow her to Clean All The Things!

Sarah took one look at her boss and told the men to go on ahead to lunch without them.

"That bad?" Sarah asked gently.

"Yes!" Mary Sue exclaimed and then redacted, "No!" she sighed. "The dinner was amazing and magical, but Miles is going back to the front lines in New Jersey and I don't know if I'll ever see him again, and he gives me this amazing personal gift and I hardly know the man better than the day I met him almost three years ago."

Mary Sue also had other concerns, such as after seeing Miles interact so fatherly with Alec, his protégé, she didn't know if he wanted kids. Was she even still fertile? Her thirtieth birthday had come and gone, and all of those chemicals she used in lab! Was this whole dating the investor thing an awful idea? If things went south, the Republic would still own more than half of her whiskey made in the next three years, and 5% of the whiskey made for the rest of the life of the distillery. Thus she'd have to interact with  _him_  for the foreseeable future.

Mary Sue could suppress these concerns when she thought they were just having a fling, but Miles was clearly emotionally invested, and Mary Sue, if she stopped lying to herself, had been too for the past month or so. These concerns, however, were not something you shared with an eighteen-year-old, even one who had had some very rough years after The Blackout.

Mary Sue sighed and Sarah let her mull things over awhile, before telling her that she needed to eat something.

Mary Sue forced some food down at lunch and went through the motions of yeasting off the next batch of raw cider and bottling the hard cider. Mary Sue knew she wouldn't be able to handle the whole Cooper Clan family dinner, but Sarah volunteered to bring her something back. Mary Sue curled up in her bed, re-reading Ender's Game by candlelight, drinking hard cider, until she heard a ruckus outside. She went out to the main workroom in time to see the Cooper Clan carry in vats of dirty laundry. She had forgotten Tuesdays were laundry day. She let them use her huge boiler to boil water and the women sat around her workroom, washed, and talked, and the men stood around her workroom, carried buckets, whittled, and talked. Mary Sue grabbed the thick-cut ham sandwich Sarah gave her and left the distillery; she was going to go do some "market research" across the river at a tavern near the old university. A friend of hers, Ashley, ran the joint, and might have some free time to listen to her vent.

* * *

Ashley had to help Mary Sue get back home. After three shots of Applejack from competitors and who knew how many sips of her own single distilled Applejack, Mary Sue was in no condition to walk home by herself. Philly was pretty safe, but despite the military presence – or maybe because of it – there were still a lot of sexual assaults.

Ashley had had a fairly light night and so had been able to suss out the root of Mary Sue's issues. Mary Sue was afraid she cared too much for Miles and paradoxically was afraid she didn't love him enough. She was afraid of getting hurt and of denying herself this chance at happiness.

As Ashley was helping Mary Sue cross the bridge back into Philly proper, they came across a patrol of two militiamen. Mary Sue shook off Ashley's arm and stumbled over to them.

"It's your faults! He juss got back! He shouldn't-dn't-dn't have to go back there so soon! It's your faults, all your fault." Mary Sue accosted the patrol, finger wagging.

Ashley hurried up to Mary Sue and tried to get her away, explaining to the corporals, "Please don't mind her, her boyfriend just left for the New Jersey front. She just drank too much fretting over his safe return. Let me get her home please."

The men's annoyed visages softened. Mary Sue with her frazzled hair, red face, work-callused hands, work-stained clothes, and sparkly blue hiking boots, didn't look like a pampered officer's wife, but more like a woman with a NCO boyfriend. They both would like to think their girls would get this worked up if they shipped off to the front – for one of them this was an intellectual exercise, but the other did have a girl, she sewed militia uniforms.

Kindly, they offered to help escort Mary Sue back to her place, but Mary Sue drunkenly refused, "No, no, no, keep your hands off; I just live right there, there, there, there – at the Firefly Distillery."

The militiamen backed off and let Ashley walk her across the bridge and out of their sight.

The sound of their conversation carried well over the water, and Ashley could hear one man ask the other, " _That_  is General Monroe's new squeeze?" which was responded to with an uncertain, "I'm sure she cleans up nice…"

Ashley got Mary Sue settled in her bed, and as she closed the door behind her she saw in the candlelight, Mary Sue snuggle with her pillow, and thought that this was the most vulnerable she'd seen Mary Sue in the three years of their working relationship/friendship; for Mary Sue's sake she hoped Miles made it back okay from Trenton.


	7. Chapter Six: Just keep swimming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to xyber116 for beta'ing this chapter.
> 
> Contains a slight spoiler for Ender's Game.

**Three days after The Blackout**

Mary Sue got up with the sun the next morning and stretched out a kink in her neck. She hurriedly changed into her jeans and shirt, fixed herself a quick breakfast of oatmeal, and hydro-loaded with a liter of water from the farm's pump. Who knew the next time she'd get guaranteed clean water. She packed everything back up into her backpack and double-checked her map. She didn't know exactly what little road she was on now, but if she walked west she should hit the Hanover Pike soon, and then follow that for 15-20 miles until she got to Hanover. Hanover was only 14 miles from Gettysburg, so her goal was to get past Hanover today.

* * *

Mary Sue's feet hurt. She'd been walking at least six hours, and her feet had started to sweat, this lead to blisters; she had stopped, changed her socks, and applied moleskin, but they still ached all over. She had been walking on the Pike for several hours and was now stopped at an unmarked creek. She knew this area was part of the city's watershed, so the creek shouldn't be polluted or overly gross.

Mary Sue filled her Gatorade bottle up from the creek and let the sediment settle out a bit as she ate two homemade granola bars. Then she set up her camp-stove and placed her 1L pot on top. She carefully poured the settled water through two coffee filters into the pot, and then lit the stove. She brought the water to a boil, and then covered the pot and let it simmer for maybe 3 full minutes. She killed the stove and let the water cool a bit before pouring it into her Nalgene. It was BPA-free, but that didn't mean there weren't other harmful chemicals in the bottle that might be leached out by boiling water.

Mary Sue repeated this process once more, but left a cup of water in the pot after the boiling step. She heated it back up for a minute and then added a cup of couscous to the pot; she closed the lid and let the couscous cook. Once the couscous had absorbed the water and was fully cooked, Mary Sue wolfed it down, practically burning her tongue.

Mary Sue set out once more for Gettysburg, feeling refreshed by the hour-long break.

* * *

**Four days after The Blackout**

Mary Sue had made it past Hanover yesterday afternoon, and even the tiny town of 20,000 gave her an uneasy feeling. People had just begun to realize that help wasn't coming and some were starting to get the inkling that 'might makes right'.

The window of the Sporting Goods store on Main Street was broken, as were the windows of a bicycle shop and a jewelry store. People walking on the streets eyed each other suspiciously. It reminded Mary Sue a bit about the stories her Grandmother used to tell about Kristallnacht.  _If it is this bad out here; how bad is it in New York, Philly, Baltimore, and DC?_  Mary Sue was glad she left when she did.

Mary Sue pulled out the map of apple orchards. There appeared to be more than 30 apple orchards within 10 miles of Gettysburg, with most of them being due north of town.  _That would be the place to go to try to find a place to pick apples and brew cider in return for room and board_. She set off for the closest orchard; she'd work her way northwest, west, and then southwest of Gettysburg in search of work. She had a day of rice and oatmeal left, so she had some time to find a place, especially if she was willing to miss a few meals.

* * *

It was maybe five o'clock, and Mary Sue was approaching her third orchard. The first two had been busts, but the man at the second orchard said that the owner of this orchard, Clear Creek Orchard, had been thinking of getting into the hard cider business before the power went out, and might be interested in taking her on.

Mary Sue steeled herself and walked up the gravel driveway, her eyes peeled for the signs of people, whether they were hostile, or friendly and willing to give her a job. As Mary Sue crested a small hill she saw maybe a dozen people picking apples, some standing on short ladders, some picking from the ground.

Mary Sue halloaed and stood still, hands up and away from her Bowie knife, as there was a minor hubbub, and saw one woman walk towards her.

"Hello," said the brunette in her mid-thirties, a hint of a question in her voice.

"Hello, I'm Mary Sue and I am lookin' for a job picking apples. And I know since the power is out you will be hard-pressed to get all the apples picked before they rot and fall from the trees. I don't think the power's gonna come back, no one is gonna come help us, so we've got to get self-sufficient as soon as possible if we're gonna survive."

The brunette nodded along to Mary Sue's statements, and then asked, "Let's say all that is true, why should I hire you instead of somebody else, someone stronger."

Mary Sue looked down at her 5' 2" frame and replied, "I may not be big and strong, but I'm a hard worker, tenacious; and I'm a home-brewer. I know how to make hard cider and I have with me a special strain of yeast bred for cider-making, not brewing or wine-making."

The woman's ears metaphorically perked up when she heard Mary Sue had experience brewing hard cider; she knew that her apples wouldn't keep well without waxing and storage in N2-filled warehouses, and people would want alcohol more than ever if the world  **had**  ended. The woman introduced herself as Joann and they began to haggle over the conditions of Mary Sue's employment.

Eventually, they shook on these terms: Mary Sue was going to help pick apples until the peak season was over and then she would start brewing cider. She would have to find or make all the equipment she needed for the brewing. They had a cider press but she'd have to figure out if she could get it to run off of a hand-crank. She would get meals same as everyone and a bunk in a shared room until May – when apple-thinning season was over. She would get to keep 15% of the cider she brewed and have the chance to change the deal in May.

* * *

**Five years after The Blackout**

* knock knock knock *

Mary Sue rolled over in bed groaning in pain. Her head was pounding, her eyes hurt just from the light coming in under the door, and her mouth was as dry as the Great Sand Dunes.  _Mary Sue, when are you gonna learn that alcohol never solves problems, only creates them. Like this situation with Miles, it would have never happened without alcohol._

Mary Sue berated herself a few moments longer before groaning, "I'm alive, just barely, but alive."

Sarah replied, "I've got Ma Cooper's patented hang-over remedy tray."

Mary Sue groaned a "Come in," and sat herself up.

The tray Sarah carried had a plate laden with eggs, bacon, baked beans, a mug of mint-willow bark tea, a fifth of spring water, and a bottle of yeasty hard cider. These things contained lots of B vitamins to fix the NAD+/NADH imbalance, water to rehydrate and some aspirin in the tea. Mary Sue knew it would help her get better faster, but the sight and smell of the food made her nauseated.

Sarah took one look at her boss and placed the tray outside the door, carrying in only the tea and water, "Bottoms up," she commanded.

Mary Sue sipped the tea; it was actually pretty good. The mint masked the taste of the willow bark, and would likely help her stomach too. She downed the rest of the cooled tea and traded the mug for the fifth of water. She took a sip and turned to face Sarah, "Thank you, I over-indulged last night."

The young woman acted her age and retorted, "Well DUH! But it's okay; you are allowed some leeway, 'cause your sweety might die."

Mary Sue took a large gulp of water and mustered all her civility to politely let Sarah know she could leave.

Sarah responded, "Oh, Ma Cooper said I wasn't to leave until you had ate and drank everything on the tray."

Mary Sue swore solemnly to eat and drink everything but professed a worry that Jake and Hodor would need help.

"Oh it's okay," replied Sarah, "Jemma is helping."

Mary Sue quirked her eyebrow, Jemma was Jake's girlfriend and was more likely to be a hindrance rather than a help.

Sarah smiled and said, "Pot, kettle?"

Mary Sue wryly nodded her head in silent agreement with the rebuke; she had been letting her relationship with Miles hinder her work at the distillery, especially these past few days.

Sarah, seeing the patient much chastised, and much improved, brought in the tray of B-vitamin rich food and left to go work. Mary Sue sipped the water while leafing through Ender's Game, and once she had an appetite, she ate the food on the tray, and got ready for work, her head still throbbing.

* * *

Mary Sue looked down at the two crates of steaming, freshly-scalded bottles. After she recovered from her hangover, she had thrown herself into her work. After dinner she let Jake and Jemma each take a fifth of Applejack for barter, as a reward for their hard work, and set about cleaning and scalding more glassware. She had already done all of the carboys, and three crates of growlers. If she just worked hard enough, she'd be able to fall asleep tonight without missing Miles, and without resorting to alcohol.

* * *

**Five and a half years after The Blackout**

Mary Sue opened the side door to a magical vista; it had snowed! She jumped up and down with child-like glee. She rejoiced in the first real snowfall of the season. Anything less than two inches didn't count, but this was a good eight inches.

Mary Sue ran back inside and knocked on her apprentices' door.

"It snowed!" she crowed in exaltation.

Sarah opened the door and sleepily asked, "It-sa what?"

Mary Sue repeated, "It snowed! You guys have the morning off, I'm going to go play in the snow!"

Sarah gave her boss a bewildered look and returned to bed. It was cold, and if she had the morning off, she wanted to spend it curled up under her covers.

Mary Sue rushed to her room and changed. She pulled on her pseudo-long johns – yoga pants – underneath her jeans, and a super-thick homemade sweater over her shirt. She laced up her sparkly blue hiking boots, pulled on her gloves and danced out of the distillery.

Mary Sue stomped down Chestnut Street making funny patterns in the snow. She shuffled along for a block dragging her feet, making two deep parallel groves and then turned around and stomped out a giant arrowhead.

As she neared the square she started to smell something wondrous – chestnuts roasting, just off of Chestnut! She traded a bit of silver for a paper cone of chestnuts and happily munched on the nuts.

She stopped at a tavern she knew and helped the owner shovel his sidewalk and then skipped off into the winter wonderland.

She was suddenly pulled from her delight by realizing where she was. She had automatically ended up in front of Independence Hall.

Miles had been gone for three months; occasionally Major Hudson would stop by with a letter from, or some sanitized piece of news about, Miles. The Major had been put in charge of the city, and Mary Sue assumed, in charge of checking up on her for Miles. The first time he showed up at the distillery, she was certain he came bearing the worst news, but he only had a letter from Miles. She had hurriedly written Miles a loving note and gave it to the Major to pass along. She now wrote Miles a letter every week, and would occasionally get a letter back.

For the most part, Mary Sue had worked hard and tried not to think about where Miles was, especially if he was putting himself into any undue danger. But this morning was not about work, or Miles, it was about the Snow, and yet here she was. Mary Sue turned around and trudged through the snow, all elation thoroughly extinguished.

By the time she walked back Sarah, Jake, and Hodor, were already out and about, so she kindled a small fire under the boiler, filled it, and heated up water for a bath. She went back to her room for Ender's Game and a towel. Once the water was nice and hot, she poured it into the scalding tub and she shucked off all her clothes. She slid into the hot water. She reread the chapter where Valentine got Ender ready for Command school for the five hundredth time. She always had had a hard time picking a favorite part of the all-around great book, but Valentine's pain of serving as mere therapy to get Ender ready to go back to the war with the Buggers; of loving Ender, and letting him go back to war, resonated particularly with Mary Sue these past few months.

Once the water grew chilly, Mary Sue toweled off, dressed, and got ready for an afternoon of distilling whiskey. Yesterday's singlings needed to be double distilled, and the trashcans from ten days ago would be ready for the first distillation.

* * *

**Five and a half years after The Blackout**

Mary Sue steeled herself for Major Hudson's arrival. Miles had arranged cooking lessons with the new chef, for her birthday, and Major Hudson was going to pick her up. The snow from 10 days ago was all gone, but it was bitter cold. And it would be even colder on the return trip.

Mary Sue heard a knock on the front door and opened it to see Major Hudson holding the reins of two horses. She suppressed a tiny grin; Miles was serious about her not riding double with anyone else.

Mary Sue and Major Hudson cantered through the city, and made good time to the President's Compound. Hudson chivalrously led Mary Sue to the kitchen and informed her that he would be ready to take her back at her convenience. Mary Sue thought it was all a bit much, but she knew Miles had written explicit instructions to try to make up for the fact that he wasn't going to be there for Mary Sue's third twenty-ninth birthday.  _He was such a sap sometimes._

The Mexican chef introduced herself as Maria, and began showing Mary Sue the process of nixtamalizing corn. This involved process of adding ash, cooking, soaking, rinsing, and then grinding the corn broke down the corn's thick cell wall; making the nutrients more bioavailable. Maria showed Mary Sue the correct way to add ash to the water and cooked a batch of corn with her.

Then Maria brought out some pre-soaked and rinsed corn; together they finely ground the corn and flattened some of the lightly salted dough – or masa – into corn tortillas. Maria heated a large griddle and plopped the tortillas down, cooking each for maybe 45 seconds on each side before transferring the hot tortillas to a plate. Mary Sue ate a fresh tortilla and was in raptures.

Maria also taught Mary Sue how to make her green-chile pork filling and then together they made a hundred green-chile pork tamales. By the end, Mary Sue was a pro at spreading just the right amount of masa onto a cornhusk, adding the filling, and wrapping it all up in the husk. They steamed the tamales and then got to know one another over fresh tortillas and tamales. Maria regretted not having enough time to show Mary Sue how to make the tomatillo or other sauces, or her famous Mayan Brownies.

By the end of the night, Mary Sue felt she had found a new friend, and rode home with Major Hudson, a large grin plastered on her face, vowing to reward Miles for such a nice birthday present.


	8. Chapter Seven: The center cannot hold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to xyber116 for beta'ing this chapter.

**Two weeks after The Blackout**

Mary Sue had settled into Joann's orchard. She shared a room with Suzette, a woman about her own age who was a wanderer. She had gotten a degree in Women's Studies and then had done Peace Corps in Albania for two years teaching English, computer skills, and working for women's rights. When she got back to the states, she couch-surfed for a year, looking for a 'harmonious' situation. She used Craigslist to find short-term jobs and wandered the country sleeping on the couches of her friends. At the time of The Blackout she was helping the Clear Creek Orchard as unskilled labor while sleeping with a high-school boyfriend who lived and worked in Gettysburg.

Mary Sue daily thanked herself for bringing her work gloves, and nightly read over the old treatise on distilling that she took from the University library. It was written in 1809 and was full of useful information. She learned about how to turn corn and rye into whiskey, how to malt barley, and there were also chapters on making vodka and apple brandy. From the treatise she learned that she didn't need to get the cider press up and going to make hard cider – which was proving to be impossible – but that a food-mill such as the one the orchard used to make chunky applesauce by hand, would be more than sufficient.

Refugees from Philly, Baltimore, and DC trickled, and then flooded through the area. At first Joann had been pretty generous when it came to taking on new people, but after one of the new guys attempted to sexually assault another worker, she got a lot more critical.

Even with a more discerning eye, the group at the Clear Creek Orchard grew to include an EMT, a former Naval Petty Officer, a midwife, a plumber, a potter, and several more relatively unskilled laborers, including a tenacious young mother who walked carrying her 8-month-old son from Baltimore.

Before long the flood of refugees got desperate. People begged, people stole, women offered to sell themselves, and some people got violent. It was hard at first for Joann to turn away some of the freeloaders, but within a week she hardened. She had the Naval Petty Officer and the EMT's husband rig up an Early Warning System of bells on fishing line between the rows of apple trees. They had 24-7 watches set up and everyone – except for Joann's nephew with Down's syndrome – began training with the Naval Petty Officer and a new acquisition of a martial artist, to be able to protect themselves and the orchard.

During Mary Sue's watches she thought about how she could jerry-rig a fermenter. She thought trashcans would be easy to find and would able hold a lot of cider, but she didn't know how she would keep them bacteria-tight yet still let out CO2. The plumber inspired her as she helped him lay out a brown-water watering system for their garden for next year. He used rubber cement like substance to keep the PVC pipe joints watertight.  _Grease should be able to seal a trashcan lid to a trashcan_ , and she had enough experience from lab with working glass, that she should be able to at least make U-bends out of the decorative glass straws she traded two bars of chocolate for from the ice cream shop in Gettysburg.

One of her biggest contributions to the orchard was that she remembered a factoid from a museum tour she took one summer when visiting her grandparents in Washington. People used to fill barrels with apples, seal them with wax or tar, and then place them on the bottom of a river over the winter. The apples would be kept cold, but wouldn't actually freeze, and could be pulled up in the spring and would be fresh. Joann had decided to attempt this trick and placed ten black trashcans full of apples on the bottom of the creek from which the orchard got its name.

* * *

**Four months after The Blackout**

It was bitter cold outside, and by extension it was pretty damn cold in the garage Mary Sue was using to ferment cider. Mary Sue had the working trashcans as close to the house as possible and kept a small fire going, but then again, she didn't want to die of carbon monoxide poisoning. The cider was kept a bit warmer at night when half of the orchard crew slept in the garage, but sometimes it froze. Mary Sue fished out the ice and stirred the yeast but there wasn't much else she could do. Mary Sue was able to keep her parental yeast jug inside the house; otherwise this all would have been an exercise in futility.

After the Blackout, the violent people started banding together and taking out outlying homesteads, so after the end of apple-season, all of the orchards near Gettysburg traded most of their apples for townhouses and moved into the town. The town set up a semi-formal citizens army to protect itself from these marauders. Some of the more military-minded of the Clear Creek Orchard group (or CCOG as they started referring to themselves) left the group and joined this militia. There was trading between the townspeople and the new settlers; Mary Sue even had a brief fling with a pharmacist who lived four houses down.

Mary Sue was able to set up a small brewery in the garage of the Clear Creek Orchard house and get a month of good brewing in before it got too cold. In that month, she had cleaned, sterilized, and filled almost every sealable empty glass container in the town. She had cider in old-fashioned coke bottles, wine bottles, beer bottles, even Perrier bottles.

The batch of cider she was brewing right now would be the last of the year; the CCOG had collectively decided that, as sick as they were of applesauce, apple-cake, apple and turnip soup, and plain apples, they would need to keep the rest of their basement stash of apples to keep them going until spring had sprung, and they might even need to trade some to get seeds and hopefully chickens.

One of the best things about the CCOG moving into Gettysburg was that Mary Sue got to meet a real-life cooper – Mr. Williamson. She had read the distillation treatise so many times she knew it by heart – she had given the soap-making book to Lauren, the young mother, so she could learn a skill – so she knew how important properly charred white oak barrels were to the process of making whiskey. She wasn't planning on making whiskey anytime soon; they hardly had enough grain to eat, let alone to use to make whiskey that wouldn't do anyone any good for five years, but she hoped someday to diversify. She knew there was no way she'd be able to make rum, her poison of choice, but whiskey was a definite possibility.

* * *

**Five and a half years after The Blackout**

Mary Sue was in the middle of malting barley – a complicated process of soaking, sprouting, drying, and then baking rye – when Major Hudson arrived. Mary Sue had been looking forward to a letter from Miles; the last letter had cautiously optimistic about the Trenton Campaign winding up in few weeks. Miles and Mary Sue had an unwritten law that she would never ask him questions that would be hard to answer, and he'd never lie to her.

She had gotten the letter about a month ago, right after her birthday. She had kept her ear to the ground, but none of the militiamen could anything tell her about how the campaign was going, nor could any of her tavern-owning friends.

Mary Sue took a closer look at Major Hudson's implacable visage. There was a hint of concern or maybe fear in his eyes. Mary Sue stopped, her heart pounding, her breath rapid. She couldn't control herself, "He's dead, isn't he," she blurted.

Major Hudson shook his head, and bluntly said, "No, but he's pretty damn close. He took a bullet to gut it the last battle. It was sort of a rallying point. The Trenton Campaign is a success."

Mary Sue interrupted, "I don't give a damn about your stupid war; how is Miles?"

Major Hudson blinked at the vehemence of Mary Sue's harangue, "It's a gut wound. There was a good hospital in Princeton, and even now they still have good Docs. They got the bullet out and stitched him up real good. But even with that, he ain't but maybe a 50-50 shot of recovering."

Mary Sue felt the news hit her stomach like a cold, greasy Big Mac. Solid, gross, and indigestible. Her arms became numb.

Major Hudson waited as Mary Sue attempted to digest the raw ugly odds. He hated giving this sort of news. It was the worst part about the job. Though sometimes, rarely, but sometimes, a new widow would want a bit of human contact and solace through the hard time, and who was he to deny them what little comfort he could. And it was a nice perk.

Major Hudson watched Mary Sue's face begin to green.  _Oh crap, we've got a puker_. Jim Hudson looked around and grabbed an empty pail, handing it to her just in the nick of time.

Mary Sue emptied the contents of her stomach and swayed. With a small fraction of her brain not cogitating on Miles' condition, or keeping herself upright, she thought  _I'm in shock. Literally. I must really love Miles._

Major Hudson led Mary Sue over to a pony keg – the perfect height for a stool – and seated her upon in. Jake ran and got a bottle of Applejack.

When Jake returned, Mary Sue grabbed the bottle and used her teeth to pry out the wine-cork. She took a mouthful of Applejack swished and spat. She swallowed maybe three shots and let the alcohol burn its way down to her empty stomach. She set the bottle down on the floor and turned to Major Hudson.

"I think I've got myself together. Where is Miles? Princeton? When is the next militia supply caravan or whatever heading to Princeton?"

Major Hudson debated the logic of what is was about to do, but he was a soldier, and soldiers followed orders, "I'm sorry ma'am; I can't tell you that. Bass has the General's location restricted to only a few people. I've only be authorized to give you what information I just have, the fact that Miles did wake up after the surgery, and the explicit command of President Monroe to 'not do anything Black-Widow stupid.'"

Mary Sue sighed, frustrated and stymied. If she couldn't rush into save the day like a Big Damn Hero, then what was she supposed to do? The phrase Big Damn Hero rang in her mind, and she thought of the crew of the Firefly-class transport Serenity.  _What would Zoe do if Wash was injured a long ways away and she was ordered by Mal to stay put? Probably ignore the order and ride in guns blazing, even though more bullets wouldn't help the situation any. Not exactly the best role model for right now._

_What would Kaylee do?_  Mary Sue pondered a bit.  _Kaylee would work right in front of Cap'n Tight-Pants' face, figurin' out something mechanical to allow Simon to help himself. Now that is a better starting idea._

Mary Sue wasn't particularly mechanically inclined, but she did have a lot of chemistry knowledge; perhaps she could turn her mind to trying to extract something from a healing herb or synthesize a medicine.

Major Hudson could see the resolve return to Mary Sue's body. He wondered if he should be worried about whatever Mary Sue was planning on doing, but decided he had enough on his plate. Hudson made sure she was relatively settled, and then left to go run the city.

* * *

The next morning, Mary Sue woke without a hangover; she had been careful to not over-indulge so she could start implementing her plan. She quickly got dressed and after a rushed breakfast and a hurried conversation with Jake and Sarah, she set off with two fifths of moonshine under her arm.

Mary Sue walked to a nearby doctor/herbalist she supplied with moonshine for sterilization purposes, and opened her shop door. Mary Sue heard the comforting tinkle of the door chimes and was assaulted by the cacophonous odors of dried plants, tinctures, essences, and who-knows-what-else.

She heard a faint "I'll be with you in a minute" coming from the back of the shop and set about looking around the small display area in the front. Mary Sue knew from experience that the shop contained a small front shop area, a small exam/patient room, and a larger workroom for making the herbal medicines. Dr. Waverly lived second floor of the small Brownstone.

Dr. Brittany Waverly greeted Mary Sue with a pleased hug; typically Mary Sue sent her monthly shipment of moonshine with Sarah. Dr. Waverly was tall, maybe 6' 4" and had long straight red hair.

Dr. Waverly thanked Mary Sue for her early delivery of moonshine, but knew something was up; Mary Sue was super tense.

Mary Sue attempted to subtly ask Brittany about healing herbs with, "So, I was wondering if you might have time to teach me a bit about healing herbs; I'm looking to maybe diversify my skill set."

Brittany knew Mary Sue had a personal reason for asking the question, so decided to forget about the tincture she was making and try to help her friend. She made an educated guess as to what might be bothering her, and grabbed a buddle of mint leaves. "Mint is good for settling upset stomachs, especially due to morning sickness."

Mary Sue looked uninterested and even said, "I know that, I was thinking about something more like treating wounds."

Brittany took a mental step back and re-evaluated her guess;  _it must be something about General Matheson_. Brittany led Mary Sue on a meandering path to her back workroom and started listing off herbs that had antiseptic properties.

Brittany stopped and held up a wad of cobwebs. "These cobweb actually make a good bandage packing material if properly cleaned. The spider-silk is strong and can form a good scaffold for clotting and wound closure."

"Cayenne pepper can help stop hemorrhaging, but I wouldn't recommend just anyone using it. Now here," she said pointing to the tincture of marigold petals she was making, "This is marigold. It is a confirmed astringent, antiseptic, and even has anti-inflammatory properties. You can apply this to almost any wound and it couldn't hurt. A cream made of puffball mushrooms may stop bleeding, but there is very little scientific evidence to support this."

Mary Sue nodded along and was making mental notes, when Brittany snuck in a question, "What sort of wounds are you thinking about in specific?"

Mary Sue, without stopping to think replied, "Gunshot to the gut."

Brittany attempted to suppress a grimace, but Mary Sue saw it and demanded, "I know it's bad, but I've got to do something."

Dr. Waverley nodded, thinking; Mary Sue would need something to do, to occupy her mind. "The big thing about gut wounds it keeping them clean. If some bacteria from the gut get into the wound it can be bad. I'm sure General Matheson is being treated by the best doctors around. Ones who know everything I just told you, and more. But even if they have penicillin, the gut bacteria are likely to be resistant to penicillin, especially if Miles ever got strep throat or ear-infections as a kid. What he really needs is a next-gen antibiotic, one that his natural bacteria would be susceptible to."

Mary Sue nodded, thanked Brittany and set off.  _If Miles needed a next-gen antibiotic, then damn it, she would look up how to synthesize one, and make it for him._

 


	9. Chapter Eight: Trials and Tribulations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to xyber116 for beta'ing this chapter.
> 
> Spoilers for Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, if you are interested in watching DS9 and want to remain spoiler-free, PM me (can you PM on AO3?) and I'll send you a spoiler-free chapter. If you aren't interested, you should be. It is an amazing show with complex grey characters and dark complex plot-arcs.
> 
> If you want to imagine or listen to the Bones, CSI, NCIS etc. "doing science" montage sound-track during the second half of the chapter feel free :)

**Almost two years after The Blackout**

Mary Sue was setting up her new baby – a 20-gallon copper still. It had taken a lot of work on the part of Steven, the Gettysburg blacksmith, and Fred, the CCOG plumber, to put together a still under the direction of Mary Sue. She knew how small stills used in organic chemistry were put together in gory detail, and knew the distillation treatise by heart. She was pretty sure this baby would work and was planning on testing the steam-tightness of the seal between the still-pot and the still-head and for any leaks along the condenser this afternoon.

Mary Sue  **had**  attempted to walk home the spring after The Blackout, but had run into a vicious band, evidence of natural selection for the worst in humanity. She had barely escaped with her life and limbs, and refused to think about the incident. Mary Sue was good at repressing. She had simply turned around and returned to the CCOG.

Civilization was returning. The Gettysburg Militia had joined with the Monroe Militia without a fight, and most of the state was under the control of Governor Monroe and General Matheson. The orchard groups moved back out of Gettysburg, supplemented with new spouses and members. This summer the bands of marauders had been mostly hunted out of existence like the feral animals they were. It probably would be safe for Mary Sue to attempt to walk home next spring, but she was in a serious relationship with Steven, the blacksmith, and didn't want to leave him; anyways she should be able to start distilling whiskey and true apple brandy soon.

Mary Sue was carefully greasing the joint between the still-pot and the still-head when she heard a cough behind her. She placed the rag and the bowl of grease down on the still's worktable and turned around. She saw a wiry man with dark blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. He was wearing the special green coat Mary Sue now knew was part of the uniform of an officer of the Monroe Militia. He had two pins with the encircled M of the republic on his collar, she hadn't seen those before, and concluded he must be a pretty high-ranking officer. Mary Sue wondered what the officer was doing out here in the boonies.

"Good afternoon, sir. Can I help you?" Mary Sue asked politely.

"Yes ma'am, good afternoon to you, too. Would you mind telling me were I could find Dr. Hodson, the distiller?"

Mary Sue suppressed a groan. Ever since that first amazing batch of applejack Mary Sue accidentally made by freeze-distillation during that first winter, Joann had taken to calling her Dr. Hodson the distiller. Mary Sue had tried to tell her that she was only halfway through her PhD, and she wouldn't be a distiller until she had a working still. Now she would have to explain to this grinning officer that she was neither of those things, just plain ol' Mary Sue.

"I'm Mary Sue Hodson, and this is my still."

The blonde man smiled politely and asked, "And your husband, where is he?"

Mary Sue sighed, "He is non-existent. The owner of the orchard likes to call me Dr. Hodson the distiller, she says it makes the cider sell better, but I never finished my PhD and my still isn't up and running yet."

Mary Sue could tell the officer was judging her, and finding her wanting, so she stood a little taller, trying not to care.

The officer eyed the 5'2" slim woman standing tall in a well-worn cowboy shirt and jeans and incongruously, sparkly blue hiking boots.  _This is the distiller the troops from Gettysburg rave about? This little woman is trying to make whiskey?_

The blonde continued to smile, but Mary Sue was starting to get creeped-out by how he grinned so broadly but the smile never reached his eyes. He reminded her of Gul Dukat from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, creepy and smug.

The man introduced himself, "Nice to meet you Ms. Hodson, I'm Governor Monroe and I would like to talk to you about a job with the Monroe Republic."

Mary Sue blinked several times trying to process these two new pieces of data. Mary Sue collected her thoughts and said, "Please call me Mary Sue, Governor Monroe, and I'm not looking for a new job. I like it here at the CCOG."

Governor Monroe's smile fell, his face instantly becoming stern, his blue eyes steely.  _Yes, very Dukatesque._

Mary Sue hurriedly tried to make a save, "You see, my boyfriend is here, the apples are here, my brand-new still is here, I will most certainly sell the militia anything they wish to buy, and pay my taxes on all I produce…"

Governor Monroe collected himself and firmly said, "You should really hear the terms of my offer before you reject them."

Mary Sue nodded and asked, "Governor Monroe, would you like to sit down to discuss this?"

Governor Monroe nodded, and Mary Sue asked, "Sir, would you like anything, some cider perhaps?"

Governor Monroe nodded once more and sat down on a log as Mary Sue grabbed two bottles of cider that were chilling in the creek; she had been planning on drinking them with Steven, her boyfriend, but oh well. Mary Sue deftly opened the bottles with the hilt of her belt-knife and handed one to Governor Monroe.

Governor Monroe quaffed deeply and seemed genuinely startled by the quality of the cider. It had been from one of Mary Sue's best batches from last fall, and she could tell he was changing his mind about her.

Governor Monroe said, "This is really quite good, what is your secret?"

Mary Sue humbly replied, "The two biggest things about making cider is making sure everything is sterile and having good yeast."

Governor Monroe hmmed and then said, "So, my offer is: we'll move you to Philly, we have a nice warehouse on the outskirts of town, near a pure water source. We'll provide you with all the equipment you need: a still, oak barrels, corn, rye, wood – whatever, you need it, we'll get it. You'll be commissioned as an officer – I was thinking lieutenant – with all the rights and privileges intendant with the position. These include pay, fine housing, a horse, a food allowance, among many of other things. If you perform your job with distinction, you will earn bonuses and may be considered for promotion. You can bring your boyfriend along; we can find him a job, or he can work for you. Whatever."

Now Mary Sue didn't really want to be forced into the militia, she knew from experience that nothing pissed her off quite as much as incompetent or high-handed leadership, and she had heard some  _interesting_  things about the militia. She was fiercely independent and went into science partly because of the independent nature of the work. Yes there was teamwork, but it was more like cross-country rather than basketball. Sometimes you helped your teammates, providing moral support or ideas, but mostly you were striving on your own. She figured that in the militia the likelihood of having a supervisor who knew nothing about brewing or distilling would be high, and the possibility of having to train and work with people who didn't have the right mind-set was also high.

On the other hand, Governor Monroe had already shown he was a temperamental man, and it wasn't a good idea to piss off the highest-ranking man in the city-state. Mary Sue would have to somehow convince Governor Monroe that it would be better for her to remain independent.

If there was one thing Mary Sue learned from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, it was never trust despotic dictators, especially smug snake-like ones with greasy hair and smiles that never reached their eyes. Even if they were charming, and even if they were partially redeemed by a child's love, they still might end up as a Pah-wraith worshipping nutso.

Mary Sue thought for a few more moments, wished she could talk to Joann before continuing this conversation, and then said, "Governor Monroe, sir, you don't want me in your militia."

Governor Monroe's blue eyes became even steelier and he clenched his jaw. He brusquely said, "And why is that?"

Mary Sue paused for a second or two and then said, "Well, sir, I'm not sure if I should be telling you this, but Joann – the owner of the orchard – and I have been working on a network of brewers, distillers, and tavern-owners. Mostly we've focused on trading information such as who has hops or a lager yeast strain, and generally keep knowledge of the trade going. Just a little while ago I transcribed a section of a book on how to turn barley into malt for a brewer outside of Chicago. We've also started using the network to look for loved ones. Almost everyone goes to taverns at least occasionally, and many talk to the owners pretty freely, so tavern-owners are great sources of information."

Mary Sue continued, "Now, if I was officially part of your militia, I'd likely lose my membership in this informal pseudo-secret society or be distrusted. However, if you simply invest in the distillery and maybe loan me that nice warehouse, in exchange for some percentage of the whiskey, then I'd still have my contacts with the network. I might be able to use them to gather information for you, as long as it was subtle and wouldn't lead to me being blacklisted from the society."

Governor Monroe pondered the implications of a network of tavern-owners, brewers, and distillers, and the implications of having a contact within this network. He asked Mary Sue, "How far does this network reach?"

Mary Sue thought a moment and then replied, "I know we've heard from brewers from outside Boston, near Toronto, in Milwaukee, outside St. Louis, and as far south as Charlotte."

Governor Monroe nodded, clearly relishing the idea of the vast information network, and Mary Sue felt more than a bit like Lord Varys the Spider – or to keep the metaphor un-mixed, Garak – and she just hoped that she'd be able to pull this off  **and**  maintain creative control over her whiskey, and with whom she worked.

Eventually Governor Monroe and Mary Sue reached an agreement where Mary Sue would move to Philly, the militia would provide the upfront collateral so Mary Sue could get all the equipment she would need and the republic would own 55-85% of the whiskey for the first five years. The first year they would own 85%: 50% to cover the five-year loan for the factory and equipment, 20% to cover the cost of the white oak barrels made by Mr. Williamson, 10% for the cost of the grain, and 5% for the 5% ownership of the distillery. After the first five years, and once the distillery was self-sufficient, the 5% ownership shouldn't be a millstone around Mary Sue's neck. Mary Sue was more concerned about the loose agreement to provide an Intelligence officer with some pertinent information on a semi-regular basis; she hoped she wouldn't rue the day she made this deal with a crazy Dukat-like Governor.

After Governor Monroe and Mary Sue shook on the agreement, Mary Sue impertinently asked, "Why were you so adamant that I distill for the militia?"

Governor Monroe replied with a true smile, one that actually reached his eyes, "It's a gift for a friend."

Mary Sue was confused, but didn't want to annoy such a powerful man any further than she had already. As Governor Monroe walked away, showing off his rather fine ass, Mary Sue thought to herself,  _how the fuck am I gonna deal with this?_

* * *

**Five and a half years after The Blackout**

Mary Sue returned from her meeting with Dr. Brittany Waverly feeling much better. She had a tangible goal in mind; even Governor Monroe would have a hard time finding her plan of making an antibiotic for Miles "Black-Widow stupid."

Mary Sue touched base with Sarah and Jake and went to the Cooper's farm to grab some supplies. She left the farm laden with sandwiches, venison jerky, and an oil-lamp. Mary Sue crossed the Schuylkill River and headed for the Drexel University library. She talked her way past the militia guards at the front doors and went in search of a librarian. Fifteen minutes later she was back outside, walking into Philly proper. The medical library was on the Center City Medical campus.

Mary Sue reached the Hahnemann Medical Library at around noon, and so she took a brief break to pound down a jam sandwich before talking her way into the library and commencing her search for literature on synthesizing antibiotics. She knew the first thing she had to do was some background research into the best class of antibiotic for treating gut wounds, and then find a paper detailing the synthesis of said antibiotic.

Mary Sue quickly found a textbook designed with first-year medical students in mind, detailing the different classes of antibiotics, their mechanisms of action, and common uses. She was astounded by the chemical diversity of the various drugs. She had remembered from Biochemistry that some antibiotics – like penicillin and amoxicillin – disrupt bacterial cell wall synthesis and others like kanamycin stop bacterial ribosomes from making proteins. What Mary Sue hadn't known, was the vast array of different chemicals that could work on different steps along those pathways.

The textbook recommended a combination of neomycin and erythromycin (two ribosome affecting antibiotics) the day before any colorectal surgery and cefoxitin thirty minutes before the surgery. Mary Sue thought it was too late for the earlier dose of antibiotic, but she would look into cefoxitin. From the textbook, Mary Sue learned that cefoxitin was a second-generation Cephalosporin and killed bacteria by stopping cell wall synthesis. The first generation Cephalosporin was isolated from  _Acremonium_  – a slow-growing plant fungus – but it was made more potent and less easy for the bacteria to be resistant to it by chemically modifying the base antibiotic which was called Cephalosporin C.

Armed with this information Mary Sue walked over the stacks containing the New England Journal of Medicine.  _How she missed PubMed, and being able to search the whole breadth of the literature with just a simple computer search._  She would have to look through the table of contents of each issue, looking for pertinent title, and then use that article's references to work her way back into the literature.

Luckily, it wasn't too bad. She was able to find an article on MRSA in one of the last New England Journal of Medicine issues ever published. The strain of  _Staphylococcus_ discussed in this article was resistant to cefoxitin, and there was a citation for a review article,  _huzzah!_  Mary Sue tracked down the journal and issue and took the magazine and her oil-lamp over to a study-carrel.

Mary Sue sat down at the study-carrel and opened the journal to the review article. She read the abstract and then pulled out some jerky, wishing she had a mug of chai and a pen and paper with which to take notes.

She soon learned about the pharmacokinetics, contraindications, dosage for the obese, but nothing about the synthesis of cefoxitin.

She took a look at the references, oh! There was an article on Antibiotics in tactical combat casualty care in the journal of Military Medicine. She got up to search the stacks for that journal. After a futile hour of searching, Mary Sue gave up. Either Drexel University didn't have a paper copy of that journal, or they had been taken or burned during the tumultuous transition. The militia was strict about protecting their knowledge now, but before there was order, chaos reigned.

Mary Sue went back to the review to get another paper to look up. None of the titles had anything about the synthesis or isolation of cefoxitin but there was an article entitled Cephalosporins in surgical prophylaxis. She did find that journal. Eventually.  _Finding academic papers was so much easier_  Before, thought Mary Sue. Still nothing about the synthesis of cefoxitin.

This directly led her to an article in a journal informatively called Surgical Infections that stated cefoxitin was good for potential infections, but a different antibiotic – imipenem was needed for moderate-to-severe intra-abdominal infections. Okay, back to the beginning.  _WWKD? There was no power in the 'verse that could stop Kaylee from being cheerful._  Mary Sue would get this done.

Mary Sue returned to the textbook to find out more about imipenem. Once Mary Sue had the background info on imipenem, she returned to the sepsis paper to find journal articles. Mary Sue followed the web of science down, deep down, with each layer learning more about clinical practices, but still nothing about isolating the core molecule and synthesizing a derivative that would save Miles' life.

Out of the corner of Mary Sue's eye she noticed an off-hand mention of Merck in the declaration of Conflicts of Interest section of the paper.  _The Merck Index! How could she be so stupid! She was a chemist and should have thought of this like a chemist, not a doctor._  The Merck Index would have a citation to the chemical synthesis of the compound, if it was published.

Mary Sue took a brief break to stretch and looked outside, it was dark. She took her oil-lamp and began looking for the Merck Index. Most medical libraries had it in the reference section along side Grey's and the special dictionaries. She found the Merck Index and opened it up to the I's. She leafed through until she found imipenem. The page contained a lot of chemical information such as the formula and solubility of imipenem but there was no citation for synthesis or isolation. Stymied again!

Mary Sue went back to textbook and looked up the chemical parent of imipenem. It was thienamycin, which was derived from  _Streptomyces cattleya_. She looked up thienamycin in the Merck Index. Success! There were several papers on the synthesis of thienamycin and a 1979 paper on the isolation from the soil bacteria. Mary Sue collected those papers and placed them on her study-carrel. She packed up her stuff and walked back to the distillery. Judging by the bar crowds, it was maybe three am, and she would need to get some sleep and then trade for some paper. The guards were strict about taking any knowledge out of the library, and she'd need detailed notes.

Mary Sue walked back to the distillery and fell into bed without taking off her clothes. She got up the next morning to the sounds of Jake, Sarah, and Hodor working in the distillery. She washed her face, found a tray of food at her door, ate it, grabbed the sack of food beside it and a fifth of applejack. Mary Sue stopped at the square to barter her applejack for homemade paper - fifteen full sheets - and returned to the Medical Library.

Mary Sue looked for thienamycin in the textbook and couldn't find it. She went back to the Merck Index and realized that thienamycin degraded in water and thus was useless medically. Mary Sue sighed.  _WWKD?_  She took the article about treating abdominal infections and brought it over to the Merck Index. She looked up each antibiotic suggested for the treatment of moderate-to-severe abdominal infections in the Merck Index and eventually found one that also had a citation for synthesis: Meropenem.  _Thank God._

Mary Sue found the cited paper and examined the synthesis. She could do this. The biggest issue would be finding the starting product. The various reagents would be hard to find, but not impossible. All she needed was hydrofluoric acid, acetonitrile, hydrochloric acid, dioxane, sodium bicarbonate, and ethyl acetate. She could do this for Miles. She carefully put way all of the other journals and double-checked that she had transcribed everything correctly before setting off to dig through the Drexel chemistry building to look for the reagents.

* * *

**Five and a half years after The Blackout**

Mary Sue was bent over a small fire underneath a round-bottomed flask. The flask and fire were in a hood with a partly lowered sash and Mary Sue was wearing splash goggles and a lab coat – old habits die hard. Mary Sue was in the process of making one of the precursors to the starting product of the synthesis of meropenem.

It was a long process, and Mary Sue had been sleeping in the coffee room of this Drexel chemistry lab. Every four days Sarah came by, dragged her to dinner – with real veggies – and had Mary Sue take care of the parental growler of yeast. And then Sarah would have the audacity to force Mary Sue to get a full night's sleep.

Mary Sue heard a cough behind her.  _It couldn't be four days yet, could it?_  She turned around, and instead of seeing Sarah or Jake, she saw Bass. He was travel-worn, scruffy, but  **smiling**  – a true eye-creasing grin.

Mary Sue absentmindedly rotated the flask out of the flames before running and giving Bass a hug.

"He's okay?!" she exclaim-asked.

Bass awkwardly returned the hug, not really wanting to get what ever chemicals Mary Sue had on himself, "He's okay."

Mary Sue sighed a huge breath of relief.

* * *

"He's okay." Bass repeated.

Mary Sue let go of Governor Monroe and brushed off the white powder she had transferred to his black jacket, "Where is he? How is he? How did you know I was here?"

Bass started with the last question first, "You did browbeat the guards into letting you have free access by saying you were Dr. Hodson on a mission for General Matheson, you did think that eventually they'd confirm your story with Major Hudson, right?"

Mary Sue nodded; really, she hadn't been thinking about much more than eliminating any hurdles standing between her and making this antibiotic that would save Miles.

Bass continued, "Miles is doing okay. It was touch-and-go for a while there, but his body is strong and fought off the infection. He still has quite a way to go before he's all better, but he is out of the woods. He is traveling by wagon – a special wagon with good springs – to ensure he doesn't reopen his wound. I rode ahead to let you know." And, more importantly, run the Republic, but that was left unsaid.

"Where is he, can I go see him?" Asked Mary Sue.

Bass nodded, "You can go with the next messenger I send." Mary Sue went to go clean up her synthesis, and get ready to ride at a moment's notice.

Bass called after her, "Wait, wait, wait. What is it you were doing here? Trying to make a miracle drug? Didn't I expressly tell you not to do something stupid?"

Mary Sue turned back to Bass, "Hey! Making an antibiotic isn't 'Black-Widow stupid' Black-Widow would have ridden off to New Jersey, killed the man who hurt her man, **and**  whoever was in charge of it, and then made sweet love her injured man. I did something Mary Sue smart."

Bass quirked a smile at Mary Sue and her spiel, "Did it work? Did you make the antibiotic?"

Mary Sue grimaced, "No, I was at least 2 months away from actually making the antibiotic. Organic syntheses take a long time, especially when you have to jerry-rig everything. Intellectually I knew I probably wasn't gonna make it in time, but what was I supposed to do? Stand around waiting for a train that ain't commin' or make whiskey that I knew Miles would never get to enjoy? No, not me."

Bass smiled and nodded.  _No sir, Mary Sue wasn't a passive wall-flower, he learned **that**  the first time Mary Sue and Miles butted heads over the distillery._


	10. Chapter Nine: Important Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to xyber116 for beta'ing this chapter.

**Exactly two years after The Blackout**

Mary Sue felt ridiculous; she was standing in the middle of her new distillery, holding a fifth of scotch, with a bow around her neck. Governor Monroe beamed beside her, his wiry body vibrating with suppressed energy.

A tallish man – maybe 6' 2" – strode in to Mary Sue's distillery like he owned the place; he scanned it and its contents with one thorough sweep. His dark hair was slicked back with some sort of grease, and his eyes were dark and brooding. He looked like the epitome of a Byronic hero – except for the dark blue – almost black – militia uniform indicating that he was one of the two highest-ranking men in the republic. Since Governor Monroe stood at her side, this must be General Matheson.

Governor Monroe shouted "Happy Birthday!" And the dark eyes were instantly drawn to him.

General Matheson sternly replied, "It's not my birthday, and Bass, I don't need your help to organize 'entertainment.'" Mary Sue could feel his eye rake across her body. She could feel him judge her blonde hair in a frazzled bun, work-callused hands, and slim un-buxom frame.

Mary Sue's face grew red even though the man wasn't looking at her. She resented the implications, and took off the bow. She wanted to throw it down forcefully, but decided that acting like a toddler wouldn't get her anywhere.

Governor Monroe had a good chuckle and finally informed him, "The woman isn't the gift; her skills are."

General Matheson raised his eyebrow and waited for Governor Monroe to drop the other shoe. Governor Monroe acquiesced to his unspoken request and said, "This is the Gettysburg distiller we've heard about, and she'll be making whiskey for you." Governor Monroe got mock solemn, and intoned, "I, Governor Monroe, of the Monroe Republic, do on this eighteen day of September, two years after The Blackout, deed to you, in perpetuity, a 5% share of this whiskey distillery, for your honor and service on the field of battle." The solemnity of the speech was ruined by his chuckling.

Mary Sue wanted to argue the semantics of Governor Monroe's first statement, but was distracted by General Matheson's loud whoop and by watching him run and glomp Monroe. For that's what it was, a true glomp. It was such an uninhibited and joyful act, it made Mary Sue smile.

General Matheson straightened out of the embrace; he rubbed at his scruff and looked quite embarrassed that an outsider had seen his reaction. Mary Sue quickly wiped the grin off her face, hoping he hadn't seen it. She didn't want him to think she was laughing at him.

Mary Sue stood around politely of a bit listening to Governor Monroe explain the distillery, and then excused herself; she had a lot of work to do. In the past few months, Governor Monroe had arranged transport for her still, and other equipment, purchased anything she said she needed, and had even 'persuaded' Mr. Williamson – the cooper – to increase the priority of her 100 white oak barrels. In the past few months, her relationship with Steven crashed and burned; he just couldn't accept how important this distillery was to her, and the hours she was putting in.

She had spent the summer setting up her new distillery, with the help of Hodor – Joann's nephew – and a batch of barrels had arrived yesterday, Governor Monroe in tow. He had informed her that he was going to show the distillery off to some officers, Mary Sue hadn't known about the stupid bow until tonight.

Mary Sue did have to admit she had misjudged Governor Monroe. He wasn't Gul Dukat; he was Tyrion Lannister. He wanted to do right by his people, but also wanted them to love him. And it was so sweet that this distillery was a gift to his best friend.

General Matheson glared at Mary Sue's back as she walked off to clean some bottles or whatnot, he had seen Mary Sue's grin, and  **had**  thought the impertinent wench with lively blue eyes and blue sparkly hiking boots was laughing at him.

* * *

**Two years after The Blackout**

General Matheson was here, again. It seemed to Mary Sue that he was in her domain far more than a 5% ownership really warranted. He was always poking his nose into her business, asking questions – such as asking why she only had 20-gallon boiler and why she kept everything so clean – and demanding to know when she would get started on the whiskey. He always tried to seem all self-important, and Mary Sue knew he was at least the second most important man in the republic, if not the first, but why did he always have to try to throw his weight around here?

Mary Sue  **was**  in the process of bottling sparkling cider, and had tried to let General Matheson know that now was not a good time, but he stuck around, being respectfully quiet, but Mary Sue could feel the weight of his eyes on her back as she tried to get Hodor to stop the siphon at just the right moment. He wasn't very good at the mental process of determining flow and estimating the volume remaining.

General Matheson huffed and asked, "Why do you have this retard, can't you hire someone else?"

Mary Sue thanked Hodor and told him to go get water from the river. Once Hodor was out of the room, Mary Sue turned on General Matheson, "Look, sir. You may be part owner of this distillery, but 5% is a small part. I will hire who I want, and this fine man with Down's syndrome has been helping me haul water, chop wood, move barrels, and mash apples since the first fall. I like him, and trust him to do his very best. I haven't found anyone as reliable as him; ever. Sure he has his limitations. But then again I can't lift a 200lb barrel over my head, and I'm sure you can't list off all of the enzymes required in glycolysis and fermentation."

General Matheson had the decency to look ashamed. He ran his hand through his greased hair, and even muttered a faint, "That's not what I meant…"

However, Mary Sue had been royally ticked off, and she continued her harangue, "I don't know what your problem is with me. Maybe it's that I'm a woman in a male profession, or maybe you just don't like my attitude, how I don't "yes sir" your every whim. I know you are a big a powerful man, but I do, in fact, know what I'm doing; and since day one you have been looming around, criticizing my work, questioning my methods. So, this is how it's gonna be: you are going to turn around, walk out that door, and I'm going to make the best damn whiskey I can, you will own 5% of it. If you need to talk to me, then you'll let me know ahead of time so I'm not in the middle of something that can't be interrupted, okay?"

General Matheson gave Mary Sue a brief nod, and stormed out of the distillery, his face stony, his eyes flinty, and his hands clenched. Mary Sue started to get concerned that Miles would come back, confiscate her whiskey, take her distillery, and kick her and Hodor out in the street – or worse. He was a General of the Monroe militia, and as much as they strove to bring back law and order, for all intents and purposes, his word  **was**  law.

* * *

**Two years after The Blackout**

Monroe strolled into Mary Sue's distillery a few days later, late in the evening, when he knew she wouldn't be busy. He caught her reading at battered copy of George RR Martin's A Dance with Dragons by candlelight.

She looked up at the footsteps, smiled at Monroe, and asked, "Do you ever wonder what happened to all of the famous people after The Blackout? Did Steven King make it? How about Johnny Depp, or the Kardashians?"

Monroe smiled awkwardly in return, he was glad to postpone the difficult conversation awhile longer, and sat down on a barrel adjacent to Mary Sue's, "I'm sure the Kardashians are all dead. But Johnny Depp, he's got to be alive and kicking. A world without Gilbert Grape, Jack Sparrow, and Roux is just not worth living in."

Mary Sue smiled and teased, "I'm sure going so long without being able to watch Chocolat has been a real strain on you."

Monroe responded in kind, "Oh, indeed; best movie EVAR."

Mary Sue grinned and the sighed, "So, I'm supposing you came here to talk about something else."

Monroe nodded, taking a moment to collect himself. In his pause, Mary Sue sprang from her seat and grabbed two bottles of plain cider, wordlessly asking him if he wanted one with a quirk of her eyebrow.

Monroe inclined his head, and took the proffered bottle, turning it in his hands. "How to start…"

Mary Sue waited a bit, and then impetuously said, "Dear Mary Sue, thank you for coming to Philly and setting up this distillery. We regret to inform you, that due to your insolent and brazen attitude, we have to let you go. 'K. Thanks. Bai."

"No, no, no," Monroe interrupted, "That's not it. You certainly are insolent, and you did piss off Miles. But every once in a while his feathers need to be ruffled, and I'm just glad it wasn't me this time.

"No, the thing is, Miles thinks you're going to duff off in a huff and ruin his chance at a lifetime supply of whiskey, and it appears you're afraid we're gonna kick you out of your distillery. We've got to sort this out."

Mary Sue nodded, letting Monroe continue, "Now, it would be best if all three of us got together and talked this all out, but Miles is leading an important foray to Baltimore, and we're both busy too. So I'm just going set this unilaterally. You will not be kicked out of the distillery for back-talking to Miles, or me, for that matter. It's yours; we're doing this lease-to-own sorta thing. And you, you are going to make your whiskey how you see fit, and are gonna try to be patient with Miles. He can't find his brother's family, and needs something to mother-hen about. I'll get him a horse or mentee or something to distract him from the distillery. Okay?"

Mary Sue nodded her assent, and they finished their ciders in companionable silence.

* * *

**Five and a half years after The Blackout**

After Bass had let her know Miles was okay, she had cleaned up the chemistry lab, carefully labeling the intermediates she had managed to make. Perhaps someone someday would need to continue the elaborate synthesis, and her notes and samples might help.

She returned home to the distillery and informed Sarah and Jake of the good news. They were overjoyed for her. She washed thoroughly and then helped them in the distillery. Jake Cooper had grown a lot in the last few months. Not physically, he was still his 6' 4" beanpole self, but in self-assurance and maturity. Mary Sue thought about pushing Jake to do a Journeymanship somewhere else, to learn new skills. She had taught him everything she knew about fermentation and distillation, and how to experiment to get the best results.

She'd have to take on another apprentice, but she always learned something new from teaching someone. Everyone looked at the world differently, and by teaching and answering questions, you gained different perspective on the work. But for now, she felt more than secure leaving her distillery in Jake Cooper's capable hands.

Mary Sue packed a small bag and placed it by the door; she knew that the messenger would stop by on their way out of town, but didn't want to hang them up any, but didn't want to have a 'Trillian incident' either. That evening she took a bath, and pulled out Ender's Game. In the front jacket were the half-dozen letters she had gotten from Miles.

They had used the letters to get to know one another, sharing horror stories from junior high school and favorite childhood vacations. They hadn't had the time to share these before, and Mary Sue learned to love Miles' sardonic observations and dry wit. She had wanted to wrap him up in a great big hug when she read about he had told a girl he liked her and she had thrown a rotten tomato at him. She had shared an incident where a bunch of popular girls had paid a popular boy $45 to dance with her at the Junior High Winter Formal. Miles' response that the boy had probably wanted to dance with her but was too chicken-shit, but the girls were bitches, and that he would hunt them down for her if she wanted, had both warmed the cockles of her heart and scared her more than a bit.

Mary Sue put the letters in her bag. She would want to rehash them with Miles, use them as a starting point to deepen the relationship, maybe even find out where he thought it was going. They hadn't talked about the future at all, but he was safe now, so maybe it was time. As Mary Sue curled up in bed, she hoped that she'd be able to see Miles before the week was out.

* * *

**Five and a half years after The Blackout**

The messenger had come for Mary Sue the next afternoon and they had ridden hard, exchanging horses at every Militia Waystation. They spent the night at a Militia outpost in Bristol and were through the battlefield formerly known as Trenton and met up with Miles' convoy by noon.

Mary Sue was shocked at how wan and weak Miles looked. The Miles she knew was hearty and virile, and nothing like this weak pale man lying in the back of a covered wagon, carefully propped up with pillows.

Mary Sue dismounted her winded horse, handing the reins off to a nearby private. She crawled up into the wagon, careful not to jostle Miles.

Miles blinked a couple times and said, "I'm glad you're back, I've been hungry without you."

Mary Sue was a bit confused and turned to the trim and proper middle-aged woman seated on the edge of wagon bed.

The woman introduced herself, "I'm Dr. Saunders, and Miles is on a lot of morphine to keep the pain down. We're traveling as slow as possible, he is mostly healed, and he hates the drug, but…"

Mary Sue nodded, "I'm Mary Sue, I'm his…"  _whatever she was to him…_

Dr. Saunders nodded, "He's mumbled about you. When he starts sobering up in a few hours he'll be glad to see you."

Mary Sue smiled and awkwardly attempted to converse with the doctor. She politely set aside her medical book of some sort, but looked relieved when Alec Penner, Miles' protégé, stopped by and called Mary Sue out.

Mary Sue and Alec walked along side the covered wagon, exchanging pleasantries and then information. Miles' recovery had been slow but steady, and Alec thought it would go better if he was less of a 'damn fool.' The doctors had recommended that Miles stay in Princeton at least another two weeks, but he had wanted to leave for Philly as soon as possible. Alec asked for her help in keeping Miles as stationary as possible. Mary Sue agreed whole-heartedly, and when Dr. Saunders left the wagon to check on other patients, Mary Sue stole her bench and watched Miles sleep uneasily.

Mary Sue wished there was something she could do, even just moping his brow, but thankfully he wasn't fevered. Mary Sue stroked his coarse, gravity-defying hair. It hadn't been greased back, and was laying every-which-way on the pillow, tufts sticking up at all angles. She studied his expressive eyebrows, his nose-shaped nose, his soft, nimble lips, and his cute little earlobes. She couldn't resist, she just had to kiss his cute little earlobes. As Mary Sue leaned over Miles to kiss his right earlobe, he awoke, instinctively grabbing her throat.

Mary Sue forced out a harsh, "Wait, it's me!" And as the fog in Miles' brain subsided, he released her.

Mary Sue rubbed her throat and joked, "You may be down, but you aren't out."

Miles apologized but Mary Sue brushed it off, it probably wasn't wise to loom over a natural predator, even – no, especially – one who was wounded.

Mary Sue kissed him on the forehead, then on the lips, non-verbally yet eloquently telling him that there was nothing to forgive.

Mary Sue kept him company during the rest of the wagon-ride. She kept the conversation light and tried not to notice if he started rambling or went silent mid-sentence, having lost his train of thought.

When the convoy stopped for the day, Mary Sue tried to help Dr. Saunders get Miles settled for the evening. She removed and readjusted the pillows and tried not to get grossed out when the doctor changed his bandages. The wound was puckered, red, and lumpy. There were a row of small black stitches, and Mary Sue was happy when it was covered by clean cotton gauze. There was a reason Mary Sue never considered being a doctor.

Miles grumbled about Mary Sue helping him eat dinner, but he couldn't sit up far enough to eat unassisted without risking getting half of it on his shirt. Dr. Saunders came by to check on Miles and he turned down another dose of morphine, opting instead for willow-bark tea. Mary Sue told him he was being an ass, but kissed him on the forehead to soften the blow. As she was leaving, Dr. Saunders expressly warned Mary Sue about any physical activity, and Mary Sue nodded somberly. Dr. Saunders undid the ties holding the back of the covered wagon open, cocooning the two in their own little prairie schooner.

Miles and Mary Sue talked for a while, and when Mary Sue felt that enough of the convoy outside had gone to sleep she released her hair, shaking it free from her riding-bun. She slowly, teasingly began unbuttoning her shirt. Once the shirt was unbuttoned she left it on, open, and unzipped her jeans. She slid them slowly down her disproportionately long, muscled legs, her face partially hidden in her long blonde hair.

She looked at Miles coyly through the veil of her hair. He was avidly watching her strip tease.  _Good._

Once their eyes met Miles said, "Not that I'm not appreciating this, but didn't the Doc just warn us against any physical activity?"

Mary Sue just gave him a secret, Mona Lisa smile. She unsnapped her bra, wriggling out of it while keeping her shirt on – she liked the contrast of the rough cotton and the nippy air against her skin. She shimmed out of her panties and strode confidently toward Miles. She pulled his covers down and slipped his boxers off of his hefty erection. She took the condom out of her shirt pocket and rolled it down his shaft. She straddled Miles, slowly impaling herself with him. Once seated to the hilt, she paused, looking down at her handsome man and the ugly white bandage about his abdomen. He ran his hands up her back, feeling her ribs and various small scars. Miles cupped her breasts with his callused hands and teased her nipples into peaks.

Mary Sue moaned and felt herself contract. Miles moaned with her. She rocked back and forth, slowly and carefully; watching to make sure Miles wasn't in pain. He tried to suppress a small wince, but Mary Sue saw and switched to a strictly up-and-down motion. Eventually, she worked out a mutually satisfactory rhythm. Once she had ridden him over his crest, she withdrew and carefully snuggled up to his least injured side.

After several minutes Miles gently poked Mary Sue in the side, she adjusted slightly, thinking she was squashing him. He poked her again, and she glanced up into his endless brown eyes.

"Hey, is it true?" He asked. Mary Sue sat up a bit and shrugged.

"Is it true, what Alec said, that you've spent the past month working non-stop trying to make me a next-gen antibiotic? Not eating, not sleeping?"

Mary Sue gave him a half smile before re-snuggling against his injured side, "Yes, sorta; Sarah forced me to eat and sleep, the ungrateful wretch."

Miles softly muttered, "Wow…"

Mary Sue playfully poked him in his uninjured shoulder and said, "Hey, dude; don't make a big deal about it okay?"

Miles was quiet a moment longer and then said, "How am I going make it up to you?" He then licked his lips and waggled his tongue suggestively.

Mary Sue snorted and said, "Fine by me."

* * *

**Five and a half years after The Blackout**

After the long, painful, four-day wagon-ride Mary Sue knew Miles needed something to do. He would be unable to stay still for the rest of his month or two of bed rest. He'd already pulled his stitches twice – Mary Sue was only the cause of one of the incidents, even though Dr. Saunders blamed her for both.

Monroe had ridden out with a troupe of militiamen to escort General Matheson into Philadelphia with proper pomp. Mary Sue had been able to pull him aside for a little tete-a-tete.

"Bass, I mean Monroe…" Mary Sue started.

Monroe smiled and said, "I told you to call me Bass years ago."

Mary Sue grinned, "Bass, Miles has to have something to do. He is going crazy just sitting around – especially now that Dr. Saunders has lowered his morphine."

Monroe nodded, "And I suppose you have an idea?"

Mary Sue continued, "I think I should teach him to distill whiskey."

Monroe raised his eyebrow inquiringly.

Mary Sue continued, "You know he has always been interested in the distillery, and whiskey of course. We can rig up some sort of wheelchair so he doesn't have to strain himself. And I promise we'll follow the doctor's orders."

Bass quirked a grin; Mary Sue had to respond with a grin of her own, "Mostly…"  _Had Dr. Saunders already told Bass about their sex-capades? He'd only been in the convoy for 30 minutes, that priss!_


	11. Chapter Ten: Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to xyber116 for beta'ing this chapter.
> 
> Minor spoilers for Thor and The Avengers.

**Four years after The Blackout**

It had been two years since Monroe first sorted out General Matheson and Mary Sue's fight. Mary Sue  **had** followed General Matheson's advice and promptly found an apprentice. He was a young man from a nearby struggling farm, which was looking for fewer mouths to feed. Still, Mary Sue occasionally fell asleep dreading that someday her impudent mouth would end up getting her kicked out of her distillery, all of her whiskey confiscated, and herself homeless, penniless, and dependent on the kindness of her friends – or worse.

Otherwise, things were working well for Mary Sue, her apprentice turned out to be a gold-mine, and she formed a profitable arrangement with his family's farm. Mary Sue was able to keep the distillery afloat with the four-month apple cider/applejack season and make a hundred barrels of double distilled whiskey each winter before the weather got too hot. She and her assistants worked on improvements to the distillery during the summer months.

During her first full summer at the Firefly distillery, Mary Sue rigged up a water catchment system for the distillery roof. The past summer they had built storage racks for the whiskey barrels and cider bottles. Next summer Mary Sue wanted to build an outhouse and a garden with a brown-water watering system and attempt to grow hops. Hops were labor intensive, but were perennials and she would be able to sell the seeds-heads to local brewers. Some day, Mary Sue hoped to build a brick wall around the boiler, to use less wood, and build-in a malting kiln in the back – it would also make a nice oven for a roast or stew, if Mary Sue ever found the time to cook!

Mary Sue looked outside;  _it must be close to time._  She looked down at her fancy clothes. She had on a clean, borrowed, blue, cotton blouse and freshly laundered jeans. Her hair was down and combed out into a manageable mane. Monroe and General Matheson were due to arrive any minute for the pre-arranged 'investor' meeting. She had a jerry-rigged table of smooth pine planks on top of two empty oak barrels. Waiting on the table was a pot of Ma Cooper's fine stew, a basket of cornbread, several bowls, three highball glasses, and a fancy glass decanter.

Mary Sue checked the cleanliness of the glasses for the seventh time and re-adjusted her blouse for the fourth time. Mary Sue walked over to the side entrance and looked over at the Cooper farm. Mary Sue walked back over to the front entrance and smoothed her hair, adjusting her topaz earrings. She glanced outside and then walked over to the table and sat down with a sigh. Mary Sue started thinking about all the things she needed to do tomorrow. The first batch of apples was due to arrive from the Gettysburg area soon and Jake, Hodor, and she had a lot of work to do before it arrived.

Mary Sue heard hoof-beats outside; she stood up and adjusted her blouse for the fifth time. She walked to the door just in time to hear the knock. Monroe and General Matheson had tied their horses to a make-shift hitching post and were at her door.

She opened the main door and said graciously, "General Matheson, Governor Monroe, welcome. Please come in and be seated." She gestured at the makeshift dining table.

Monroe smiled widely as he entered, "Thank you, Mary Sue; how many times must I ask you to call me Bass?"

General Matheson was silent and stony-faced as per usual; he sat down woodenly and stared at the stew pot with what Mary Sue perceived as distain.

Once Monroe was also seated, she started ladling out the stew and motioned at Hodor. Mary Sue pointedly served General Matheson the first bowl and then Monroe and herself. Hodor carried the whiskey barrel Mary Sue selected earlier up from the basement. Mary Sue was still a might tetchy about Hodor, and wanted to show General Matheson how useful he was. Mary Sue pointedly didn't look at General Matheson pointedly. Hodor placed the barrel down by the table. Mary Sue thanked him and told him he could join the others for dinner at the Cooper farm.

They ate the fine diner Ma Cooper had prepared, and Monroe tried to break the ice between the other two. _He just couldn't understand it. Whenever he saw Mary Sue alone she was spunky, lively, and smart; whenever Miles was also there she was passive-aggressively polite and reserved. Miles was also different around her. He strutted and carefully chose his words to sound smarter and more self-important. If Bass didn't know better, he'd swear he was in some sort of_ _Pride and Prejudice_ _knock-off. But Bass did know better. Miles was always awkward around girls he liked, but not this awkward._ _ **And**_ _he usually used self-deprecating humor instead of this arrogant alpha-male bull-crap._

Once they finished the meal, Mary Sue stood up and with tongue-in-cheek grandioseness pronounced, "And now, for the event we've all been waiting for, Mary Sue Hodson owner of the Firefly Distillery will open the first barrel of two-year-old whiskey."

Mary Sue leaned over the barrel and attempted to pull the plug out of the bunghole. It wouldn't budge. She tried twisting. She wiggled the plug back and forth to no avail. Monroe tried to give her a hand. He couldn't get it to move either. As Monroe and General Matheson bickered over who was stronger and the best way to get it out, Mary Sue returned to her room and pulled out her Leatherman. It had a corkscrew.

When Mary Sue re-entered the room she heard, "It just won't budge; we should try a bit of grease."

She just couldn't help it, and said, "That's what she said."

Monroe cracked up, but General Matheson just gave her this dumb-founded look, shocked she was aware of crude double entendres. Mary Sue just looked at General Matheson's face and started laughing. Soon enough, General Matheson joined the other two in laughing at the ridiculous situation.

"I can't believe you went there!" exclaimed Monroe.

"That's what she said," said Matheson, and the gale of laughter recommenced.

After several false starts, the trio stopped laughing and managed to remove the plug from the bunghole. Mary Sue suctioned off some of the two-year-old whiskey and filled the fancy glass decanter. She then poured a finger or two into each of the highball glasses and let them breathe a bit.

She turned to her two investors, and said, "Now, I hope you don't expect too much, this stuff has only been aging two years. Most of the stuff on the market Before used to be, at a minimum, three-years-old. And keep in mind this is cask strength whiskey, so it is around 120 proof, not 80 proof like you're used to."

Matheson greedily reached for a glass and Mary Sue lightly slapped his hand away, "It's better if you let it wait a bit."

Monroe guffawed, not even needing to say 'that's what she said' to get synchronous groans from Matheson and Mary Sue. They shared a look; they had had the same reaction to Monroe at the exact same time.

After Mary Sue had waited the requisite 10 minutes, she handed Matheson his glass. She felt a frisson of something pass between them as their fingers touched. She handed Monroe his, and he waited until she took her own glass in hand.

"To the Firefly Distillery, may she have many fine years!" said Monroe.

They all carefully clinked glasses and took a measuring taste.

"Nice." said Monroe simply.

"Not bad, not bad at all," exclaimed Matheson, "Tastes like a Knob Creek or maybe a Wild Turkey. Better than Jack Daniel's or Jim Beam. You could start selling it now."

Mary Sue initially was pleased with the praise, personally she thought the alcohol lacked the phenol-y oakiness she was expecting, but then she felt that Matheson was critiquing her.

She got defensive, as per usual, "Whatever; you can do what you want with your barrels, but this'll be much better in three years."

Matheson held his hands up in submission, "Hey, I wasn't criticizing; this is good stuff. It was a complement. You have creative control over your whiskey; I just want to enjoy the stuff." He took another appreciative sip, rolling the liquid around his mouth before swallowing.

They sat around the make-shift table sipping whiskey and munching on cornbread. After the second glass Mary Sue switched to water, her head was already floating several feet from her body. Miles and Bass were not so wise.

Bass brought up a story from his and Miles' shared high school days, some locker-room prank, and the evening devolved to the two of them sitting around shooting-the-shit. Mary Sue mostly observed, but would occasionally offer acerbic observations.

Miles brought up Bass's obsession with Anne Hathaway. Mary Sue piped in, and soon they were talking about movies. The three of them turned out to have almost no shared interests movie-wise. Bass and Miles used to love action movies – less so since returning from Iraq – and Mary Sue used to love science-fiction movies. It did turn out that the trio did share a love for superhero movies. The Avengers had come out mere months prior to The Blackout, and they took turns recalling their favorite bits.

Mary Sue loved Black-Widow and wished she could be that smart, wily, and independent – and have the ability to kick-ass and take name... Miles liked Ironman the best. He got the girl, saved the day even though he made mistakes, and still had time to trade quips about drapes. Bass liked Loki. He was just misunderstood. He spent his whole life playing second fiddle to his perfect brother Thor, and then found out the reason his father didn't love him was because he was actually a Frost Giant. All he wanted was love and respect, and if he couldn't get it from his adopted family, then maybe he could get it from the humans, and if they were too busy worshipping him, they wouldn't fight wars anymore anyways.

Mary Sue sat back and psychoanalyzed their favorite Avenger, what it said about them. She was so in her own head, thinking about how her first impressions were so wildly off, that she didn't even realize that both men had fallen asleep at the table. Their necks would hurt in the morning. She wondered if she should move them to a more comfortable position, but didn't think she'd be able to. She did remove the highball glasses from their hands, and blew out the candles.

As she took Miles' glass, he woke up and muttered, "I'm sorry 'bout before. Wif' your assistant-person. Sometimes Ima dick." Conscience assuaged after several years, he fell back asleep.

* * *

**Five and a half years after The Blackout**

Mary Sue looked over at Miles, sitting in a throne-like leather office-chair cleaning a few glass carboys. His gravity-defying hair was ungreased and still rumpled from this morning. They were just waiting for Jake, Sarah, and Hodor to return from the Cooper farm – they had universally decided to sleep in the Cooper's bunkhouse and give the two 'love-bugs' their space.

Mary Sue filled her boiler with half rainwater half river-water and brought it to a boil. While it was heating up, she opened up the large sack of coarse ground cornmeal. She called over Miles. He rolled over to her and she showed him the proper texture and consistency of cornmeal for making whiskey.

Once the water boiled for three minutes, she let it cool and then added 2 pecks of the cornmeal to each of five sterilized trashcans. She poured four gallons of hot – but no longer scalding – water into each of the cans, and Miles gave them a stir with a freshly scalded paddle. Mary Sue refilled the boiler as Miles ensured that the cornmeal was thoroughly moistened. As the water was heating up, Mary Sue checked on his progress and gave him a peck on the lips. Or well it was intended to be a peck, but turned out to be a bit more involved.

"Eww. Get a room guys!" Said Sarah. Jake, Sarah, and Hodor had returned.

Mary Sue stepped away from Miles, and he scrubbed at his scruff bashfully. Mary Sue straightened her work-shirt and returned to the boiler. Jake asked if he should start distilling yesterday's singlings and Mary Sue agreed. She wanted to show Miles the process in chronological order.

"Okay, so now that the corn mash has soaked a bit, we are going to add more boiling water to continue mashing the corn." She explained to Miles, and then proceeded to pour 4 gallons of boiling water into each can, Miles stirred – breaking up any cornmeal lumps – and Mary Sue covered the cans to keep the steam in.

Mary Sue refilled the boiler and helped Miles stir each can every fifteen minutes or so. They added more water whenever it was boiled and ready.

After they had added the last 4 gallons of boiling water to each can, Mary Sue added a cup of salt telling Miles, "The Distillation Treatise I studied also recommended adding some ash at this point to adjust the pH of the mash, but with our mix of river- and rainwater this isn't necessary."

Once letting the corn cool a bit, Mary Sue added a peck of rye-meal and two quarts of very coarsely ground malt. They stirred the mash thoroughly and re-lidded it, stirring every half hour until the sprouts had separated from the mash.

While waiting for this to occur, Mary Sue showed Miles the food-mill she used to grind her corn, rye, and malt, "You want the grain to be ground fine enough that it soaks evenly, but you don't want it so fine that the little sprout is killed. You need the sprouts around to tell the rest of the mash to start breaking their complex carbs down into easy-to-ferment sugars."

Mary Sue and Miles went to stir the cans again, and she saw the telltale sprouts. She pulled up a paddle of mash to show Miles.

"Now we just have to wait for it to cool down to around 80 degrees Fahrenheit and then we can add the yeast and let it ferment."

"Why can't we cool the barrels down with river water or something?" Asked Miles.

"Well, you know we sterilized everything? What we just made is delicious food for any bacteria, and bacteria grow a lot faster than yeast. We want to make sure that only our yeast ends up in the cans, no bacteria." Replied Mary Sue.

"But I thought alcohol was sterilizing." Said Miles.

"Yep, but we've got to make it first. Once the yeast are happily working away, we could toss in bacteria, they wouldn't have time to catch-up with the yeast. And the alcohol the yeast are making would eventually kill them, but you've got to be careful in the beginning or you will end up with a foul non-alcoholic brew." Added Mary Sue.

Dr. Saunders stopped by to check on Miles, so Mary Sue checked on Jake and Sarah. Sarah had carefully charred the oak barrel Jake's double distilled whiskey was going into to, and he had gotten almost 15 gallons of 160-proof whiskey from the original 100 gallons of fermented mash. He diluted the whiskey down to 120-proof with boiled-and-then-cooled water and then sealed it up in the charred barrel.

Hodor carried the pot ale to the Cooper farm and Sarah and Mary Sue cleaned the still. Once Miles' check-up was finished, he and Mary Sue stirred the cooling trashcans and Mary Sue pulled out her glass thermometer. She knew the cans were maybe 120 degrees, far too hot to yeast off, but she wanted to teach Miles.

Miles felt the outside of the galvanized steel cans and said they felt warm, but not hot to him; she handed him the thermometer, and he was surprised to see how warm it really was. Mary Sue cautioned him that it always took longer to cool down the last little bit than the first 20 degrees.

As Jake and Sarah started the first distillation of the mash from 9 days ago, Mary Sue and Miles worked on making more cornmeal. The sack was running low. They were also running low on malt. Mary Sue had been making some right before she found out Miles was injured, and Jake and Sarah had been too busy to finish it. Mary Sue made a mental note to start a batch of barley soaking this evening.

When things were at a good stopping point, they all went to lunch, Miles having being given the go ahead for short strolls. When they returned, Miles' first mash was cool enough to add yeast to. Mary Sue poured a fifth of a gallon of happy active yeast to each of the cans, Miles stirred, and together they sealed the lids and added the airlocks. Mary Sue added a gallon of filtered mash to the yeast growler and returned it to the warmest part of the workroom.

Jake and Sarah had just finished the second batch of single-distillation, so Mary Sue stepped in and said she and Miles would take care of the rest of the distillation for the day.

Jake joked with Sarah about how much 'taking care of' would really happen, but they eagerly left. They had been a bit over-worked since Mile's injury, and Mary Sue's disappearance, and welcomed the break.

While Hodor emptied the pot ale and carried it to the Cooper farm pig slops, Mary Sue showed Miles the best way to clean out the still. She then carefully siphoned and transferred the liquid from the 9-day-old mash. The actual mash had settled down to a thick sludge, so this process was actually easier than with the hard cider. Once the liquid was transferred, Mary Sue lit a fire under the still.

Mary Sue began, "So this mash has been fermenting for 9 days. This is how long it takes when the distillery is this temperature for the yeast to eat all of the sugar, turn it into alcohol, and then die of alcohol poisoning. The next step to turn this 'beer' into un-aged whiskey is the actual distillation.

"Temperature control is key," Mary Sue said, "You want to get the pot ale up to close to the temperature at which alcohol boils, while boiling off anything lighter, like methanol. Then you put the still-head on and the alcohol will boil off and then hit the condenser. The pure alcohol will hit the condenser, cool off, and run down to the pail or carboy. If this process is too fast, then there will be too much alcohol vapor for all of it to cool down. You'll lose it. And if the condenser is too warm you'll lose some too. This is also why I stop distilling in May, the outside temperatures are just too hot for the condensation to work, and heck in July and August it can get too hot for yeast to grow!"

Mary Sue felt the still-pot, it was hot-tub hot – maybe 150 degrees F – and she said to Miles, "This is the right temperature to put on the still-head."

She screwed on the still-head and the long copper condenser, placing a pail underneath the end of the condenser.

"The first little bit is called the head, and will have things other than just alcohol in it, so we toss it back into the next batch to redistill it." She explained.

Mary Sue explained about how she regulated the fire level and how she was hoping to build a brick wall around the boiler and under the still, in order to use less wood and better control the temperature.

Once Mary Sue switched to collecting the condensate in the glass carboy, she settled in for a mini-make-out session, knowing it would take awhile for the carboy to fill. She did keep both ears out for the sound of a changing dripping rate, but she also kept both hands on Miles.

After five enjoyable gallons, Mary Sue swapped out the carboy and began explaining what would happen next, "So once all the alcohol has boiled off and condensed, then the temperature of the still will increase until something else starts boiling. This might be just water, or a maybe a nasty chemical. When I feel like the alcohol is running low – usually after 9 gallons of singlings have been condensed – I'll swap the carboy out for another pail. When the still temperature shoots up, I'll know I've gotten all the alcohol out and then kill the flame. I'll add the tailings to the next batch to redistill them."

Mary Sue continued, "Both the liquid left in the still-pot – the pot ale – and the sludge at the bottom of the trashcan are good pig feed. The Cooper farm pigs have the tastiest bacon, and it is because they eat the used up mash, dead yeast, and low alcohol pot ale we give them."

Miles playfully grabbed Mary Sue and told her that he had some tastier sausage she could try. Mary Sue just laughed and kissed him on the nose, ears pricked for the sound of dripping slowing.

Mary Sue and Miles finished distilling this and the other two batches of the 'beer' and Hodor carried the waste products over to the Cooper farm. Jake brought the two love-birds a 'take-out dinner' and they enjoyed a nice peaceful evening at home.


	12. Chapter Eleven: Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to xyber116 for beta'ing this chapter.
> 
> Thank you also to IronAmerica for the idea of post-Blackout dyeing.
> 
> Spoilers for Ender's Game.

**Four and a half years after The Blackout**

It was a fine May evening, and Mary Sue was showing her new apprentice Sarah how to properly clean and scald beer bottles, when she heard hoof-beats on the concrete driveway outside. She looked up in startlement to hear pounding on the distillery's front door.

"Coming," she called. She heard grunts and curses from behind the door, she stopped approaching; who knew who was behind the door, and they sounded pissed.

"It's locked!" exclaimed a voice from behind the door, it was Miles Matheson's voice; she went to the door and unlocked it, opening it to reveal a crazed-looking Miles Matheson. His hair was not greased back and was flying every-which-way in a most gravity-defying manner, his militia coat was misbuttoned; the top button on the right was in the middle buttonhole and so forth. In short, he was in bad shape _._

"Good evening General Matheson, how may I help you?" Mary Sue politely asked, her body blocking the doorway.

Miles Matheson leaned against the doorframe, "Booze. I need booze."

"Yes?" Mary Sue said noncommittally, it was clear he had already had plenty of booze.

"Bass and I had a fight, I'm all out now."

Mary Sue sighed; she supposed she should let him in, if only to prevent him from terrorizing a tavern or seven. She took a step back and gestured him into her distillery, her home.

"So what did you and Monroe fight about?" asked Mary Sue as she led him to a barrel.

"Can't talk about it. It's classified-ed," responded Matheson.

Mary Sue nodded and told Sarah she should spend the night at the Cooper farm; she didn't know if Matheson would be an angry drunk or a crying drunk, but either way Sarah – who was just learning to trust people again – didn't need to see it.

"Let me get you something to drink," said Mary Sue, a sentiment Matheson agreed to readily.

She handed him a mug of water, and he gave it a disdainful glare.

"Come now, don't be a baby. I'm getting you some booze, but drink this for now," chided Mary Sue.

Matheson sighed and took a sip under Mary Sue's glare; she turned away and went downstairs. She heard him pour the water out onto the distillery's concrete floor and she snorted softly.

Mary Sue grabbed a fifth of applejack and a growler of apple cider. She poured the applejack into the cider and mixed it up. She then refilled the fifth with the diluted applejack. It would still be at least 20-proof – about the concentration in wine – that was better than 60-proof, especially since he was being a dick about staying hydrated.

Mary Sue returned upstairs and filled two camping mugs with the diluted applejack – she didn't trust him with anything fragile right now.

Matheson took an eager sip and then stared at the mug in disgust. "Hey, I wanted whiskey, or at least moonshine!" Matheson protested. There was no way in hell Mary Sue would give him her 160-proof moonshine, he'd likely die of alcohol poisoning.

"Later. First let's drink this fifth, and you tell me whatever is not classified, okay?" said Mary Sue.

Matheson started talking, and Mary Sue kept him going. As long as he was talking, he wasn't drinking, and that would give his liver some time to process all of the alcohol he had already drank tonight.

After about the fifth iteration of all of Monroe's faults – including lactose-intolerance and being a general 'fart-face,' Mary Sue got an inkling as to what may be the source of the issue – it had something to do with Matheson's missing family and yet somehow this was also a classified military issue. Mary Sue figured that the fight must have been about Matheson wanting to find his brother and Monroe being worried about someone using the Matheson family against them as leverage or something. She figured that would be good enough reason to want to rub raw moonshine into psychological wounds.

Mary Sue didn't want to think about her own family. In the beginning, she had been fairly confident that her sister and her parents were doing well. Her sister had a lot of useful skills – being a lumberjack and a certified elementary school teacher were only two – and her mother had a fine garden that could probably sustain them. Then she found out that her hometown was in the middle of The Wasteland. Now her only hope was that her baby brother – who was away at a cross-country meet the night of The Blackout was okay – and as far from The Wasteland as he could get.

Mary Sue switched mental tracks back to Miles, "I know the fight has something to do with the military implications of something you can't tell me, and I know squat about the military, but I do have this one piece of advice for you. The enemy's gate is down."

Miles gave her a quizzical look.

Mary Sue continued, "You see, in my favorite book, Ender, the main character, has a genius military mind and is at this Battle School. There is this awesome zero-G Battle Room where groups of kids fly around and play laser-tag."

Miles snorted.

Mary Sue continued, "I know, it sounds pretty hokey, but in this book, kids have fought these battles for decades – the battles determine their social standing and eventually even their careers – with a set up-down left-right coordinate system. Ender comes in as a fresh n00b and sees if you turn that coordinate system about 90 degrees, pointing your feet at the enemy's territory, then you'll present a smaller target to the other team."

Mary Sue continued, "So, you should try to change your perspective on whatever issue you and Monroe are fighting about, or even turn the fight on its head."

Miles nodded sagely, or drunkenly, Mary Sue couldn't quite tell, and she just hoped he'd remember her advice in the morning.

Miles and Mary Sue kept drinking. Mary Sue attempted to get Miles talking about happier things, his favorite book, which turned out to be ironically Stephen King's The Stand, and his favorite food, Chicago-style pizza. These pleasant topics were interspersed with a lot of self-deprecating remarks or disparaging remarks about Bass.

Several hours later, Mary Sue decided it was time to get Miles home and looked outside for his horse. It was gone. _It might have gotten loose and returned home to the safety of its barn or maybe it was stolen. Oh well, not my issue._  Mary Sue decided to give up her bed to Miles; she could sleep in Sarah's bunk, and helped him to his feet.

He tottered a bit on his feet, and Mary Sue steadied him. He proceeded to skill-lessly mash his lips against hers, and she firmly pushed him off, "No."

He laughed, "That's why I like you, you're not afraid of me. Not afraid to tell me when I'm wrong."

She just shook her head, and led him to her room. She helped him undo the leather belt on the outside of his coat, and unbuttoned his misbuttoned coat as well. She gently pushed him down onto her bed and kneeled before him, dispassionately unlacing his boots. Once she pulled the boots off she looked up at Miles. He was staring at her like some sort of lovesick puppy dog. He drew his hands through her hair, popping the hair-tie from around her bun. Her long blonde hair tumbled down, past her shoulders.

Miles ran his hands through her coarse hair – it was hard to have soft hair with homemade soap and no conditioner. He drunkenly murmured, "I like your hair. When it's down. It's so pretty."

Mary Sue was stunned, and remained kneeling in front of him, letting Miles stroke her hair. It felt nice, and was odd. She remained kneeling when Miles leaned down and softly captured her lips with his own. His lips were soft, and warm, and nimble. Mary Sue groaned,  _oh, what the fuck; I'll probably regret this, but oh he feels so good. And it's been awhile._

She rose out of her kneel without breaking contact with his lips. She settled herself crossways on his lap and he moved to deepen the kiss. She grabbed the back of his head and pulled him gently closer. Miles ran his hands down her back and then slipped them under her shirt.

She suppressed a small hiss;  _damn his hands were cold!_  She ran her fingers through his coarse, ungreased hair and he ran his hands up her back, each cold fingertip leaving a burning-hot trail behind. Miles softly stroked her bottom lip with his tongue, and she parted her lips for him. Mary Sue felt Miles' tongue dart against hers. Miles hands traced burning-hot trails around her sides before he slipped them out of her work-shirt and began unbuttoning it.

Miles broke off the kiss, breathing hard. He looked into Mary Sue's eyes, and was sober enough to ask, "Are you sure?"

Mary Sue nodded, "Yes." She wasn't, but as her little sister used to say, YOLO: you only live once. And if it turned sour, she could always blame it on the booze; anyways she hadn't yet used up her allotment of poor life choices, unless going to grad school counted.

Miles finished unbuttoning her shirt and slid it off of her shoulders. He snapped off her bra and just stared at her bare torso. She started to feel uncomfortable. Mary Sue leaned over and started unbuttoning Miles' uniform shirt.  _Man he had built shoulders._ Once she was done, Miles grabbed her waist and repositioned her so she was sitting astride instead of crosswise across his lap. He kissed her right earlobe and the traced a row of kisses down her neck, down to her right breast. He took the nipple in his mouth and flicked it into a peak.  _Oh god!_ Mary Sue arched her back, leveraging her feet against the bed. He continued suckling and teasing her right breast until the left was mightily jealous. She detached Miles and transferred him to her left breast. He obligingly began teasing the left nipple while chuckling slightly.

Mary Sue played her fingers across his shoulders and chest, tracing various white raised scars. Once he began kissing his way back up her left side, she grabbed his lips with hers and relaxed her arch, grinding against his crotch. Miles groaned and flipped them around so that Mary Sue was lying on the bed with him astride her.

Mary Sue scooted slightly so that the pillow was beneath her head, and her hair was fanned out on it. Miles smiled down at her and began kissing his way down her midline, stopping once he reached her belly button. He grabbed her belt-loops and looked back at Mary Sue one eyebrow raised inquiringly. She nodded. He unzipped her jeans and pulled them off of her, only to be foiled by her sparkly blue hiking boots. He unlaced her boots and tossed them across the room; they landed with a heavy  _thump_ , and were promptly followed by her jeans and panties.

Mary Sue spread her legs and Miles crouched between them, bending down and beginning to lick and nibble. Soon Mary Sue was lost in a haze of ecstasy; once Miles' fingers joined in on the action, she surged and crashed down into a million tiny pieces.

Miles laughed lightly down at Mary Sue's limp body and said something. Mary Sue couldn't make out the words through the fuzz of her euphoria. Mary Sue wanted nothing more than to slip into a contented slumber, but knew that would be unfair. She waited out the aftershocks and then got up to grab a condom.

* * *

**Five and a half years after The Blackout**

Mary Sue stretched out on her bed. It was odd waking up without Miles by her side. He had been finally okayed by Dr. Saunders for desk-duty, and more importantly, climbing up the two flights of stairs to his bedroom. He had clearly enjoyed his time at the distillery, but was also clearly ready to get back to his men. It was May, and Miles and Mary Sue had sealed up the last barrel of whiskey a week ago. Currently Mary Sue was taking a bit of a break while trying to find a good brick supplier.

She knew their anniversary was coming up, and knew Miles was planning something over-the-top and romantic. The idea no longer gave her any anxiety, Miles was who he was, not so good with words, but movingly eloquent with his actions. She no longer was concerned about what other people thought about her being with Miles; she was only concerned about being  **with**  Miles.

Mary Sue attempted to think of something she could do for him for their anniversary. Alcohol or sex were trite. Getting him The Stand or Chicago-style pizza would be copycatting. What else could he want? Throughout the day and the next, Mary Sue thought long and hard about what it was that Miles could possibly want.

Suddenly, as she was walking through a market and accosted by two little red-headed boys – clearly brothers – playing at being militiamen, Mary Sue got an excellent idea. Miles had been searching for his brother and his family for at least the past three years, but the tavern-owners, brewers, and distillers had their own post-Blackout information network. Everyone – or at least almost everyone – went into a bar or traded for alcohol. Mary Sue was sure she could pass on a description of the brother and his wife, and get the tavern-owners and brewers to look out for them. She wondered why Bass hadn't asked before, probably because he was worried about someone using the Matheson family against them. She'd just have to phrase the request for info in such a way to alleviate those fears, but how?

And while she was at it, she could ask them again to look for her baby brother. It would be nice to know if he was still alive, if he was, he'd be 23. She wondered if he was married or whatnot. Married! That is it! Mary Sue could ask the pseudo-secret society of tavern-owners, brewers, and distillers to look out for the in-laws of a distiller from Gettysburg. It would be bending the truth, but hey, they might someday get married, and she did get her start in Gettysburg.

Mary Sue would just have to get the descriptions of Miles' brother and sister-in-law from Bass and send them to her old boss, Joann of the CCOG. She had taken up brewing cider after Mary Sue had left, and was the head of the local area's network. She'd pass the information to the alcohol makers who could carry the information to far-flung taverns with their wares. Then the tavern-owners could keep an eye out for the Mathesons. It would be easy as pie, which was an odd expression, since piecrust was hard to make.

* * *

**Five and a half years after The Blackout**

Mary Sue was all dressed up in a new blue dress. Lily, of the extended Cooper Clan, had figured out a way to make a lovely shade of blue using a dye made out of the inner bark of the dogwood tree, and Ma Cooper had given this dress to her as part of Jake's Journeymanship gift. Mary Sue was pretty sure there was no such thing as a Journeymanship gift in the traditional master-apprentice education style, but it was so lovely, and A-line, and brand new, that she didn't argue.

Mary Sue had brushed her hair until it shone, and had applied some sort of herbal conditioner that the man in the marketplace swore would work miracles; it wasn't miraculous, but it did condition. Mary Sue wished she had shoes other than her much abused sparkly blue hiking boots, but she didn't, and she knew Miles wouldn't care.

She held a small bit of paper tied up with a green ribbon in her hands. Her anniversary gift to Miles. Miles was due to pick her up soon and whisk her off to a romantic evening. It was supposed to be top secret but Maria, the Mexican chef, had let Mary Sue in on the secret, or at least part of it. For dinner they were going to have strawberry daiquiris and beef enchiladas, and for dessert, Maria's famous, to-die-for, Mayan Brownies. Mary Sue couldn't wait!

She heard Miles arrive, and she ran out the door. He had hardly even stopped Zep before she was outside. He gave her his arm and pulled her up behind him; then she readjusted her skirt, a little sad that she wouldn't have quite the same experience as the last time she rode double with Miles.

 


	13. Chapter Twelve: A Brand New Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to xyber116 for beta'ing this chapter.

**Four and a half years after The Blackout**

Mary Sue woke up feeling awful. Not only did her head throb and her mouth was dry, but also she had to contend with the guilt of indulging in a one-night-stand with Miles Matheson, the General of the Monroe Militia, and part owner of her distillery. She'd  **have**  to interact with him for the foreseeable future. The sex had been great, better than great in fact; but she knew from experience you should never sleep where you work… shit got too complicated and dramatical.

Mary Sue carefully rolled out of bed and got dressed. Miles, no Matheson, no General Matheson, was still sleeping, his breaths deep and even. Mary Sue dashed over to the Cooper farm and asked for a hangover remedy tray for two. The cook, Liz Stevenson, gave her a questioning look, but Mary Sue squashed her down with a curt, "I don't want to talk about it." While over there, she let Jake and Sarah know they had the morning free.

Mary Sue carried the tray over to her distillery, and cursed when her bedroom-door hinge squealed. Miles woke up with a start, sitting up and reaching under the pillow for a gun that was not there.

"Sorry," Mary Sue said sheepishly.

Miles looked at her, at the room, and literally did a face-palm, "Fuck," he exclaimed succinctly.

"You can say that again," quipped Mary Sue, "I brought us some breakfast."

Miles scrubbed at his scruff, licked his lips, and looked back up at her, "I'm sorry. Let me just get dressed and I'll get out of here. I'm sorry I came over here all drunk and pathetic, and I'm sorry I used you."

Miles' last statement pissed off Mary Sue, "Hey, listen up bud; don't go around and deny me my agency. You didn't  **use**  me. I could have kicked your sorry ass out of my distillery at any point. I am as much responsible for last night as you are. More so. I wasn't drunk off my ass. There are many things I can say about you, General Matheson…"

She was interrupted with a pleading, "Miles."

Mary Sue restarted, "There are many things I can say about you… Miles, and that you are a considerate lover certainly is one. Now, as long as you aren't too awkward around me, I'll have nothing to regret about last night."

Mary Sue quirked her eyebrow at him and set the tray of food down. Miles threw on his clothes and gave her one last searching look with his soulful brown eyes. He licked his lips thoughtfully and fled from her bedroom. As he reached her bedroom door, Mary Sue called after him, "Remember, the enemy's gate is down."

Miles gave her an enigmatic look and exited the distillery.

* * *

**Four and a half years after The Blackout**

Several days later, a militiaman turned up at the distillery with a brown-paper package.

Mary Sue unwrapped the package and unveiled a slightly battered hardback copy of Ender's Game. She gently stroked the dust jacket of her beloved friend. She opened it reverently. There, on the inside front cover, partially hidden by the dust jacket, was a short note:

MSH

Thank you for your helpful advice.

MM

The note was short and concise; but Mary Sue could feel the emotional weight of the gift. Miles had put thought and effort into this gift. She wondered what it meant. She had been meaning to talk to Monroe about another shipment of oak barrels; maybe she should go by Independence Hall sometime this evening.

* * *

**Five and a half years after The Blackout**

The ride was short and uneventful, and Miles led Mary Sue to the same small conference room as their last romantic meal; this time it was more tastefully decorated. They enjoyed a sweet meal and Miles hesitantly brought up the future, their future – a topic that had been totally forbidden. Mary Sue said she was interested in making a future with him, and that they'd have a lifetime to figure out what that meant. He gave her a heartbreakingly beautiful smile and a topaz pendant necklace. She handed him the bit of paper. He opened it, read it, and looked at her in confusion. The paper contained a short missive from Joann and it simply read:

Message received and will convey.

JS

Mary Sue explained, "So brewers, tavern-owners, and distillers have this loose information network, and I just asked them to look out for your brother and sister-in-law. I arranged it through Joann, so people wouldn't think to use your family as hostages against you, but if anyone spots them, they'll eventually let Joann know, and she'll contact me, and maybe you will finally find your family."

Miles gave Mary Sue an unfathomable look, his dark eyes completely unreadable. She was puzzled; she thought he would be exuberantly pleased. He bent over and gave her a womb-tingling kiss and she promptly forgot anything else. They eventually broke apart and continued with the fine meal.

Just as they got to the Mayan Brownies, Alec Penner, Miles' protégé, apologetically intruded. He was terribly sorry, but Miles' really had to address a certain issue. Miles regretfully left, but Mary Sue understood. Just as he would have to understand if she didn't wait for him to eat her amazing dessert. It had been years since she had last had chocolate, and she had always been a fan of chocolate with a hint of chili pepper.

Mary Sue took a bite. It was heavenly. The smooth mouth-feel of chocolate, a nice kick of pepper, cinnamon, and some other subtle taste combined in a superb symphony of flavors. She slowly cherished her piece and began eyeing his. If he didn't return soon, he might find that she had eaten half – or maybe all – of his piece. Mary Sue got up to walk around, wanting to distract herself from the temptation. Her stomach began to gurgle. She thought that was a bit odd. The she burped. Mary Sue was glad Miles wasn't around for that; nothing was funkier than a Mexican-food-burp.

Mary Sue sat back down. She started feeling shooting pains in her lower gut. Her intestines screamed at her, and then turned to water. This was not normal Mexican food gas. She stumbled out of the conference room and slumped down in the middle of the hallway, shouting for help, for a doctor, for Miles. It felt like her whole lower half was in a vat of acid, or maybe sodium hydroxide. She hurled chocolaty bits up at the feet of Dr. Saunders.

Mary Sue looked up at the familiar – if not particularly friendly – face and clipped out through clenched teeth, "Miles; check on Miles. I think we've be poisoned."

Dr. Saunders ran off to find Miles, leaving Mary Sue in the hands of a nearby corporal. The lives of her family were tied directly to General Matheson's life.

Mary Sue squeezed the corporal's hand, channeling her pain, fear, and worry into a bone-grinding grip. Her whole digestive system felt like fire ants were biting and tearing their way out, and she could feel her heart race. She tried to slow it down by taking deep breaths; if she was pumping this poison through her whole body, the slower her heart beat, the longer she had. Maybe she could see Miles one last time and say goodbye.

Her arms and legs were cold, unresponsive, and the fire ants were eating their way through to her lungs, each breath feeling more and more painful. Mary Sue didn't believe in any afterlife or any power greater than the imagination of the human mind, and now she simply wanted this pain to end. Her whole torso was on fire, different organs competing for the privilege of being the most painful, the most noticeable. Mary Sue attempted to block out any sensation below her chin and focused her mind on her beautiful distillery, knowing that it would be in the good hands of Jake and Sarah, wondering if she had told them the copper still would need to be replaced every decade or so. She wondered if she had told them how proud she was of them, and knew that some small part of the Firefly 'verse would keep on going after she was gone.

Dr. Saunders forcibly purged General Matheson's stomach with syrup of ipecac and  **then**  let him know what had happened to Mary Sue.

Miles ran through Independence Hall and back to the small conference room. Miles knelt down, through the bodily fluids, and held Mary Sue tight. He got there just in time to hear her gurgle and see her rapidly blink her eyes before she shuddered and breathed no more.

Miles held her close and then looked down at her bright blue eyes, new blue dress, and old sparkly blue hiking boots. He scraped a few stray tears away and turned to the corporal. He said simply, "Get me that new Mexican chef. Now."

* * *

**Five and a half years after The Blackout**

Miles used a handkerchief to wipe the blood off his hands as he left the interrogation room. He had found this interrogation to be enjoyable, but not quite cathartic. The chef had been sad to hear that Mary Sue had died, and eventually, under duress, had told Miles everything about the plot General Blanchard had concocted to eliminate General Matheson using poisoned brownies.

Miles stalked silently through Independence Hall. He wanted to storm and stomp and scream, but that was for toddlers. He knocked firmly on Bass's office door and resisted the urge to slam it behind him. Miles gave Bass a terse update on the intelligence gleaned from the chef and stood there glowering as Bass poured them both a few fingers of scotch.

Bass handed Miles a glass and said, "You're bottling."

Miles knocked back the scotch and set the glass down firmly; he replied, "You better believe I'm bottling, you ass. There is nothing I'd like better than to ride down to Texas and slit General Blanchard's throat, but that wouldn't bring back Mary Sue, and it would throw the whole Republic into an unwinnable war. I can't – I won't – do that."

Miles picked up the highball glass and handed it back to Bass wordlessly commanding a refill. Bass obliged and wondered if his friend – his brother – needed another poke, or if he was ready to vent on his own.

Miles took the newly refilled glass and turned it slowly, watching the shimmer of the scotch along the sides of the glass.

Just as Bass was about to 'poke the bear' again, Miles said, "It's not fair. Mary Sue is dead 'cause of me. She was just collateral damage – an object in this war between Blanchard and me. That's just not fair. Mary Sue was so much more than that, and would have hated the idea of just being a damn object."

Miles went silent again and took a swig of scotch. Bass waited, sipping his own scotch.

Miles "It's all my fault. I'm the one that created this opportunity, this weakness, if it weren't for me, Mary Sue would still be alive, would still be distilling."

Bass took another swig and replied, "You know Mary Sue would smack you for talking like that. She was quite a woman, and she chose you just as much as you chose her. She had no idea what she was getting herself into – having to deal with your brooding and your  _face_  – but don't dishonor her memory by shouldering all the blame, honor it by getting totally smashed."

Miles smiled a bittersweet smile at Bass's attempt at jollying him along, but said, "I can drink to that." Miles downed his scotch and silently vowed never to make the same mistake again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Author's Note: What do you guys think of the ending? I wrote this weeks ago, before the season finale. And it is a fitting end for a Mary Sue.
> 
> Reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated :) Even if you read this fic years from now, if you liked it, make my day and let me know.


End file.
